


The Stormbringer Saga

by MagicalStalwartGizmo



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adopted Children, Adoption, Anal Sex, Angst, Blood Magic, Canon-Typical Violence, Dirty Talk, Double Penetration, Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, Dreams, F/M, Fifth Blight, Forced, Game Spoilers, Giant Spiders, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Mages and Templars, Memories, Miscarriage, Morning Sex, Night Terrors, Nightmares, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Original Character Death(s), Past Lives, Past Rape/Non-con, Pregnancy, Shameless Smut, Slow Burn, Spoilers, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-11-13 00:29:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 38,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11173206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicalStalwartGizmo/pseuds/MagicalStalwartGizmo
Summary: After a sudden attack leaves a young elven girl orphaned, she must find her place in a new clan. When she attends the Conclave at the behest of her adoptive father, she is thrust head first into the events that change the fate of the entire world. With vivid memories that bleed into her dreams and the waking world, can she find her place in the world despite a prophecy foretelling her future or will she shape her own destiny?For those interested,thisis my inspiration for Tasha.Rating has been updated - Explicit rating is currently limited to Chapters 5 and 11.August 3rd, 2017: We have an actual title! Huzzah!ON HIATUS





	1. The Last of Us

**Author's Note:**

> This is a WIP. It's also my first fanfic, so please be gentle. Constructive criticism, questions, comments, & suggestions are welcome and appreciated. Thanks!

The attack had been swift and the Clan was remarkably ill prepared and easily overwhelmed. She had escaped at her Papae’s behest, her Mamae ran with her, holding tightly to her small hand. They fled into the nearby forest, deep into the ancient eerie wood her Papae had cautioned her to avoid. They ran until she fell, small legs giving way to exhaustion and her Mamae had to grab the child violently to continue their desperate escape. Grasping her mother’s chest, she cried silently praying to any God who would hear her desperate plea: _Help us._ She could hear the cries of her clan-mates and the clash of metal against metal; she smelled burning wood and charring flesh. Opening her tear stained eyes, she saw their pursuers: a group of large men, the likes of which she had never seen. Some were dressed in the leather of her clan, some in shiny metal armor, and one she swore had horns upon his head.

_“Mamae!”_ she cried out.

Her mother glancing back in time to see their hunters drawing closer. She held ever tighter to her mother willing her own strength to leave her and pass to the one running for both their lives. As the ground gave way beneath them, they tumbled together: rolling to a stop near a large tree, its massive roots held firm this ancient denizen of the forest.  Her mother grabbed her small body and tucked her beneath the silent guardian’s roots. Placing her hands on the child’s face, she set a tender, reassuring kiss on her tiny forehead, promising to return when it was safe. She drew simple protection glyphs around her precious possession’s hiding place and fled. She was followed closely by her pursuer’s heavy footsteps. Ivoriel hugged her small legs tightly to her chest and wept silently.

She did not know how much time had passed. She knew that the sun had risen and set at least once since her mother left her in the shadow of the ancient oaken sentinel but her mother had yet to return. Her mother’s glyphs had flickered and faded sometime during the night after she had cried herself to sleep. She recalled her Papae’s lessons on how to survive in the forest, even as a child of four summers she was made well aware of the dangers she could face at any time. Her tiny stomach growled ferociously and she began to recall a lesson on foraging. She scanned her immediate area, not yet daring enough to emerge from the shadow of her protector’s roots.

_Moss tastes bad but eases aches._

_Toadstools red gets rid of snakes._

_Mushrooms gray the size of buttons,_

_Good with roots, or leeks, or mutton._

_Button mushrooms, there!_ Her tiny hand grasped the precious morsels and collected the lot with gentle hands. She carefully inspected each bite, brushing off any lose dirt or questionable blemishes before placing the first one delicately in her mouth. After the first few, she did not mind the taste. The soft texture provided comfort as she ate in cautious silence. She sat in silence and waited patiently for her Mamae to return.

After the third sunrise, she cautiously leaned her head out of the space she had begun to call home. She listened intently for any sign of her mother: she was both relieved and frightened to hear only silence in retort, noting warily the heavy footprints in front of her. She carefully emerged from her sentinel’s roots, thanking it for providing her with sanctuary.

“Mamae!” she cried out. An echo and the shifting wind was her only reply: a storm was coming.

“Mamae! Papae!” she cried out again, more insistently, as she began to travel in the direction her mother had fled.

She stopped when she felt her foot sink into something wet and sticky. The last thing she needed was to be wet, cold, AND lost. She glanced down to see what she had carelessly stepped into and her eyes froze in horror. _Red. So much red._ There were clear signs of a desperate struggle: displaced leaves and decaying plant matter, deep divots in the fertile soil of the forest floor, and red. _Everywhere._ She could smell her mother’s magic and another smell that reminded her of how Papae and the other hunters smelled after a successful trip. She searched her surroundings for any sign of her missing guardian. There was still no sign of her mother.

“MAMAE!” she wailed desperately trying not to let sadness overtake her.

She carefully made her way back towards the general direction they had come, easily following the trail of heavy footprints. Stepping out of the forest, her innocent eyes beheld the carnage: The remains of her Clan’s campsite, now consisting of charred aravels, slaughtered halla, and masses of smoldering corpses. She fell to her knees and wept, wailing uncontrollably into the empty, umber sky. She did not know how long she wept, only that at some point her swollen eyes would no longer produce tears. She somehow found the strength to stand again, wiping her tear-stained cheeks and runny nose with her sleeve; digging deep to find renewed determination to find her missing parents. She knew where to start: the clearing near the river.

She made her way through the sea of wreckage that had been her family with silent caution. It had been at least three sunrises but their mysterious attackers could still be nearby. She stepped over the charred remains of what appeared to be Aenorea, the Keeper, judging by the broken staff and faint scent of her magic. She noted that those crowded and slumped around the Keeper were part of the group that had attacked the camp. Praying silently to Falon’Din for her safe travels into the Beyond and thanking the Keeper for her valiant sacrifice. She made her way to the riverbank, still noting the faint red tinge to the once clear water. She followed the river until she came to the place her Papae had told her to meet him if she was ever lost, the place he would teach her the ways of the forest and animals, beneath the gaze of a large watchful wolf statue. Her Papae told her stories of He Who Hunts Alone, legends of betrayal and sadness but also cunning and perseverance. He instructed her to be wary of The Great Wolf for he was a trickster and would lead her astray; now she came to him seeking shelter and reassurance. The clearing was empty and she began to weep, though her eyes would shed no tears. She knelt by the small spring in the clearing, drinking from it as though it would fill the emptiness beginning to grow within her tiny, exhausted body.

“Da’len… What causes your sorrow?” an ethereal voice beseeched her. She raised her face to the direction of the voice, eyes falling to the statue of The Great Wolf.

“I can’t – Papae told me… and Mamae – we ran and she…,” she managed to choke out between sobs. “They are gone… all gone!” she wailed in grief and threw herself into the soft earth of the clearing.

“Ame eth amahn, da’len.” _You are safe here._ “I can help you, if you wish. I require nothing in return, save your assistance when the time comes.” The otherworldly voice implored.

“Papae told me not to,” she said defiantly. “He told me you are crafty and you… you’ll gobble me up!”

“Your Papae is very wise,” the voice chuckled in amusement. “I have indeed feasted upon wicked souls. Although, you are not wicked, are you, da’len?”

She shook her head fiercely.

“I can tell. You followed your Papae’s instructions to come here for safety. Your heart is innocent and you have a pure spirit. I will help you, da’len. Follow my helpers when the time comes.” the voice pronounced cryptically. 

“How will I know your helpers?” she asked curiously. A lone wolf’s howl was her only reply in the shadow of The Great Wolf’s shrine.

 ~~~~~~~~~~ 

It rained that evening. The spring rain falling in fat, heavy drops on the ground around her. She took shelter under the Great Wolf’s neck between its stony paws, finding some semblance of comfort beneath her stony protector’s muzzle. Exhausted, cold, and hungry, she slept that night under the protective gaze of the monument to The Great Wolf. She knew that she had prayed to many gods in the last few days but none had answered her plea so directly. She was thankful to some degree for the reassurance and assumed company. She waited patiently for his helper to come, though she knew not what or for whom to look for. He had promised help and she would honor him with her patience.

Early the next morning, she awoke to the sounds of movement. There was someone, something heading in her direction. She quietly moved into a safer hiding place behind the great statue, momentarily regretting leaving the safety of the tree roots. She listened carefully to the sounds of footfalls coming nearer but heard no voices. She remained as silent and still as her tiny body would allow, fearful that the unknown visitor would find her. Her small pointed ears perk at the sound of… sniffing? - followed by a soft whine. Curiosity peaked, she cautiously peered around the corner of her hiding place, coming nose-to-nose with a great beast, the likes of which she had never seen. Before her was a colossal snow-white wolf with deep cerulean eyes, at minimum twice her size. The massive beast sat patiently on it haunches and cocked its head to the side at her. He lowered himself onto his belly, slowly slumping to one side. She glanced around cautiously, noting no one else was around. She carefully crept from her safe haven, approaching the enormous creature. She came within reach of the massive canine and slowly stretched out her tiny hand, hopeful no harm would come to her. He gently nudged her hand, sliding his enormous head under her grasping fingers. She drew him close, relishing in the warmth of the gentle giant against her cold, tiny body. He licked her face gently and she giggled because his kisses were wet and sloppy.

“Did He send you? Are you his helper?” she asked the beast, gazing into his deep, sapphire eyes.

He licked her face in reply, nudging her face gently with his massive muzzle.

“Then I will go with you. He said he would send help,” she patted his head gently.

Turning back only to say a quiet ‘thank you’ to her stone savior, she followed her new companion from the clearing to wherever he may lead her.

~~~~~~~~~~

Her new furred friend led her away from the clearing, past the smoldering remains of her clan, and away from the smell of war and death. She had only met the creature but she knew she could trust any helper of He Who Hunts Alone for he had heard her prayers when others remained silent. They walked along the river until the sun was high in the sky, shining down on the pair oppressively. Her little legs gave way beneath her, body exhausted and succumbing to both hunger and dehydration. The giant beast stopped abruptly, turning its enormous head in her direction.

“I’m sorry, my friend,” she said weakly, stroking his face. “I am tired. Would it be alright if we rested a bit?”

The giant wolf looked around warily, releasing a soft whine before laying down beside her. She clung to his soft, billowy fur breathing in his scent. He smelled of the shifting wind just before the rain, elfroot, and turned earth – and, for now, he smelled like home. She drifted to sleep in the creature’s shadow, shielded from the midday sun’s merciless gaze. She awoke abruptly as a low rumble emanated from her companion’s chest. Eyes blurred with sleep, she peeked over his massive body in the direction of the beast’s displeasure.

_Giant spiders. Oh Creators, why did it have to be spiders?_

She did not know how long she slept but it was past the time for evening meal, a great full moon cresting over the plains, biding the sun good night – Long enough for the creatures of said night to awaken and begin to seek out breakfast and they were tonight’s intended main course. She quickly scrambled to her feet, legs still shaky from the last few days’ hardships. She gathered her courage and grasped a few small river stones, intending to have something with which to protect herself. The great beast rose to its feet, standing over her protectively as she knelt. She now had full view of their attackers: five giant spiders. Clicking their sharp pincers together menacingly as a viscous liquid dripped languidly from their open jaws and all twelve eyes trained on one thing: her.

She released an audible gasp as the spiders thrust forward to claim their prize. The giant wolf leapt to the defensive, grabbing one of the smaller spiders by a leg and ripping it violently from the creature’s body. The spider screeched in pain, hobbling away on its remaining seven appendages. The great wolf used the attacker’s leg to pierce through the head of a second spider, effectively killing the creature and pinning it to the ground. One of the smaller spiders screeched jumping onto the wolf’s back sinking its jaws deep into its prey’s flesh. The great wolf howled in pain, struggling to remove the offending creature. The spider held fast, gnawing furiously, intent on causing as much pain and damage as possible. A small projectile whizzed past the wolf’s ear landing squarely in one of the spider’s twelve eyes. The creature howled in pain, releasing its hold upon the wolf’s back.

“You leave him ALONE!” Ivoriel screamed in a voice that surprised even herself, tossing another stone at the offender with surprising accuracy.

The three remaining spider refocused their attack on the smaller prize, skittering towards her with surprising speed. Ivoriel yelped as the spiders advanced towards her. Her ever-champion darted between her and the spiders, snarling viciously, its snow-white coat caked with dirt and blood. With renewed vigor, the wolf leapt atop the largest spider, clamping its jaws firmly behind the creature’s head and twisting. A gruesome snap followed by a low gurgle as the massive arachnid slumped to the ground, unmoving. With their leader vanquished, the remaining two spiders fled in pursuit of an easier meal.

After a few moments, the great wolf slumped to the ground with a whine. Ivoriel ran to the creature’s side, tears streaming down her face. She gently placed her palms on great beast’s back, examining the damaged caused by the spider.

“You’re hurt. Mamae told me not to but I can help, I know I can,” she said softly, staring into the beast’s mesmerizing cobalt eyes. The wolf let out a low whine before laying its enormous head between its paws, resigning itself to whatever the child had planned.

“I watched our Keeper heal our hunters after a trip once. I was supposed to be asleep but one man was screaming at the top of his lungs,” she stated softly, placing her hands above the matted crimson fur. “He had stepped in a trap, set by the humans. His leg was messed up, pretty badly. His leg wrapping were stained red and blood was dripping from the loose ends,” she focused her energy into the wound, a faint green aura surrounding her hands.

“The Keeper had to have the other hunters hold the man still – It took six people to hold him down,” she continued, willing the viscera beneath her small hands to mend; the wolf whined audibly as she worked.

“Keeper said ‘If it hurts, its working’ and the man must have believed her because he stopped moving and fell asleep,” she stated, finishing her work. She turned cupping water from the river.

“This might hurt a bit but you need to be still,” she said calmly, slowly pouring the cool water onto the wound removing the last traces of blood and earth. The beast whimpered as her tiny hands worked as efficiently as any skilled healer.

“Mamae always said ‘Kisses make it better,’” she whispered, burying her face into the wet fur, kissing it softly. She moved to the beast’s head, scratching behind his massive ear and kissing him squarely on the nose. He licked her face gently, nuzzling her tiny form as she wrapped her arms around its massive neck.

“You need to rest, we can continue in the morning. I don’t think those spiders will be back anytime soon,” she said kicking one of the lifeless arachnids for emphasis. She snuggled close to the wolf’s belly, thankful for his stoic presence amidst the chaos. Lulled to sleep by the rhythmic thump of the great wolf’s beating heart, she allowed rest to overtake her. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Aedanthir could not believe his eyes and he had rubbed them quite a few times to be sure. Before him lay three lifeless giant spiders, an enormous white wolf with eyes of azure, and a sleeping child, nestled quite peacefully next to the belly of the beast. He noted the various bite marks, pink tinged fur, and webbing matted into the great beast’s otherwise pristine coat. He approached the beast, only stopping when it began to growl, low and menacing. The massive creature stared at him, unwavering in its gaze. The great beast slowly rose, taking great care not to disturb the sleeping elven child. He stood above her briefly before turning and striding majestically into the forest.

Aedan waited a few moments before cautiously approaching the still sleeping child. He called to the other members of the hunting party, cradling the frail child. The others quickly gathered around, listening to the tale of the great White Wolf protecting this child from giant spiders. They whispered amongst themselves of ill omens, old magic, and the Dread Wolf himself. While none of them knew what he looked like, they were positive that it had been him. They spoke of what to do with a child that had clearly been through much and had managed to attract the Dread Wolf’s attentions.

“She’ll bring ruin to the clan!” one claimed.

“Fen’Harel has caught her scent!” argued another.

“She is a child. Whatever circumstances have led to this moment are irrelevant and best decided by Keeper Deshanna. We will take her to the Keeper and that is final.” Aedan stated with resolve.

The child stirred in his arms, fragile and exhausted, she stared up at the man cradling her tiny form.                 

“What is your name, da’len?” Aedan asked

“Ivoriel, Hahren,” she said weakly.

“Where are your Mamae and Papae, Ivoriel?”

“Papae told us to run, Mamae ran away while I hid, and now they’re all gone,” she reported dutifully.

“Did he send you? Are you helpers too?” she asked. Aedan tilted his head at the question.

“No one sent us, da’len. We saw smoke and came to help.”

“Oh,” she said with a disappointed tone.

“Are you hurt, child? Did your clan have a healer?” Aedan queried, scanning her for any visible injuries while motioning to one of the other men to come closer.

“Keeper Aenorea used magic and so did Mamae. Mamae told me not to make it snow because it upsets the halla,” she giggled at the memory of the halla keeper fretting because the animals had been frozen to the ground. Papae had told a scary story the night before and Ivoriel was sure there was a dragon chasing her throughout the night. Mamae told her it was not her fault but to be more careful in the future and scolded Papae for telling her the story.

“How old are you, da’len?” he asked, stunned by her claim.

Ivoriel thought hard for a moment before tucking her thumb to her hand and holding it out proudly. “Four summers, Hahren.”

Aedan looked shocked at her statement and Ivoriel wondered if she had said something wrong.

“Come da’len. Let’s get you warmed up and fed.” Aedan said as they began walking back in the direction of the clan.

“Did he leave?” she asked sadly, scanning around for her lupine protector.

“He did, da’len,” Aedan said smiling warmly at her, his sun-kissed skin glistening with sweat and soot.

“He helped me and I helped him. The spiders came…,” she whispered, drifting off to sleep once again. Aedan stared at the sleeping child’s face; she looked angelic, a vision of Arlathan itself. Her snow white curls, though matted down by sweat, dust, and blood, framed her heart-shaped face. _Could this innocent being, a mere child, bring ruin to the clan?_

The group made their way toward the opposite side of the valley, she could still see the faint billows of smoke rising from the direction that they had come. The last reminders of clan Tabris’ existence wiped from the Free Marches save for one small girl with hair the color of new fallen snow and eyes of clear crystal blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to [Project Elvhen](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4401050/chapters/9999239), the Clan name Tabris is defined as a person who embodied the reincarnated soul/ideal/personality of someone who had died. Literally: Second Coming. From the words: tael (second) + britha (to appear).  
> Alternate spellings: Tabritha, Tabrithas  
> Word Count: 3,080


	2. The Prophecy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Speaking with the Keeper lay some questions to rest but raised even more. Aedanthir (Aedan) learns the cosmos has big plans for this little girl.
> 
> Chapter has been updated for grammatical errors and minor plot details.

“Not a word to anyone until we speak with the Keeper. Is that clear?” Aedan spoke firmly.

The other hunters nodded, trailing behind him.

The group approached the camp surrounded by bustling activity, bleating halla, and brightly colored aravels. Aedan strode purposefully towards the Keeper’s hut carrying the precious bundle. One of his companions held open the flap to allow him entry to the Keeper’s hut without using his own occupied hands. The Keeper glanced up as they entered.

“We may have found her, Keeper.” Aedan stated firmly, raising his arms slightly indicating whom he was referring.

“I felt her as you approached camp. I’ll kiss the Dread Wolf myself if it’s not her,” the Keeper said, rising to meet them.

She placed her withered hand on the sleeping child’s face, closing her eyes in deep thought. Her magic fluctuates violently around the group. The Keeper’s eyes shot open, stark white as she speaks the child’s destiny in ancient elvhen:

“The Stormbringer shall be born of mortal flesh a vessel for Hope from before the Fall. The Stormbringer shall sleep as the Wolf stands watch – He will know her as He has always known her and she will know Him. The Stormbringer shall know the ways of the ancient ones and her gifts shall flow as water. The Stormbringer shall bear witness to the Heavens torn asunder and she shall be branded to heal them and the hearts of the people. The Stormbringer shall bear no markings when the Wolf claims her and she shall tame the Wolf’s heart. The Stormbringer shall find refuge with the Lion and she shall silent the song within him.”

Deshanna pulled her hand away from the child’s forehead as if she’d been burned and several hunters rushed to help the Keeper sit down as she gasped for breath at the gravity of her words.

“That’s definitely her,” Deshanna stated calmly. “I could recite those words in my sleep.” Both her mother and her mother’s mother had spoken the prophecy and, finally, she had spoken it as well. She had not been sure she would live to see it fulfilled.

“What does it mean, Keeper?” one of the younger hunters asked fearfully.

“It means our clan has a new member,” she said with a soft smile. “This Ashalantarasylnin is in need of a new family. We need to speak with the families to see who would be willing to–,”

“I’ll do it. I will take her,” Aedan stated matter-of-factly.

The Keeper looked at him with sadness in her features. He had suffered so much in such a short time; His wife passing while giving birth to their first child, not two weeks prior. Instead of celebrating his new family, he had buried both his bond mate and infant daughter.

“It’s what Leena would have wanted…,” he said gazing down at the child’s sleeping face.

“As you wish, Aedan,” Deshanna replied quietly. The other hunters stared at her expectantly, she threw her arms up shouting, “What are you waiting for? Inform everyone that we have a new family to celebrate!” she ushered them all outside, pausing at the hut’s entrance.

Not turning around, she said aloud, “She will face many dangers and she may feel as though the weight of the world is crushing her. She needs you, lethallin. As I suspect you need her. I know you will do what is right,” she whispered, exiting the hut to begin preparations for the celebration.

Aedan stood in the tent with his new daughter. He would raise her, as Leena would have wanted him to. She would have wanted him to be happy and to find love again. While he knew he could never open his heart to another woman, he surmised that this small child could fill some of the cracks in his broken heart.

He exited the Keeper’s hut, walking towards his own tent. It was not much but it contained what had been most precious to him. Since Leena’s death and the death of their daughter, it had felt empty. Most nights he dared not set foot inside, opting to sleep beneath the stars instead. He stepped inside and placed the child upon the small pallet intended for his own child, now hers by default. She stirred, gazing up at him sleepily with her crystalline eyes. He grabbed a water skin, lifting her head and bid her to drink. She drank greedily, her chapped lips relishing the blessing of hydration. When she had drank her fill he set about warming a small bowl of broth. He held out the small spoon, blowing on the hot liquid to cool it, and held it to her tiny mouth.

That tent and its precious contents became his entire world for the next three days. He only left to relieve himself and eat, asking Keeper Deshanna to stay with her and provide healing magic he was unable to perform himself. They spoke of the prophecy for this child: the fact that she would receive no vallaslin when she came of age, how her choices would affect the fate of the world, and the fact that she did indeed seemed marked by the Dread Wolf himself.

“I know her life will never be her own, Keeper. How can I, in good conscience, send her to that fate?” Aedan asked one night.

“Spirits of Hope rarely appear in the waking world. There is little here that attracts them. However, if there is some event in the future where Hope incarnate became necessary, I fear we may all be in danger. I also believe that if Fen’Harel had intended to harm her, there would have been nothing left of clan Tabris. The fact that she alone survived, should serve as comfort that if he intended to hurt her, he would have done so already.” Deshanna spoke evenly as she applied healing magic to the child’s small broken body.

“She may be marked by Fen’Harel but that does not mean her fate is sealed, lethallin,” she continued, looking directly at the troubled man. “Simply because I have spoken the child’s future, does not mean it was spoken in finality. While it is true some moments are fixed points in time and will occur regardless, she has the power to shape her own destiny. And that’s where you come in.”

“What must I do, Hahren?” the man pleaded.

“Instill within her the bravery to stand for what is right when no one else will, the courage to change the things that can be changed and the serenity to accept the things that cannot, as well as wisdom to know the difference. Teach her the ways of the people; teach her as though her life depends on it, and it does. Love her and she will return it ten-fold. As I said before, she needs you as much as you need her.”

Perhaps the Keeper was right: He needed her as much as she needed him. It was possible that Fen’Harel had delivered this child but he promised himself he would kiss the Dread Wolf squarely on the mouth in thanks if he ever got the chance.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

She awoke on the morning of the fourth day, stirring him from his own restless dreams.

“Hahren…,” she whispered in his ear.

“What is it, Ivoriel?” he said without opening his eyes.

“It’s time to wake up. The sky’s awake so you must be awake to.” She whispered a bit louder.

“Are you feeling better, da’len?” he asked.

“I am. Ma Serannas, Hahren.”

“De da’rahn. _You’re welcome._ Shall we go out and meet everyone?” he said stretching.

“Who is everyone?” she asked curiously.

“The whole of clan Lavellan has been waiting to meet you since you arrived. I– We wish for you to stay with us. Where you will be safe,” he said patiently.

“Will Mamae and Papae know where to find me? I want them to be safe too,” she said innocently.

Aedan made a face and smiled sweetly at the child, “Ivoriel, do you remember what happened, to you… to your clan?” he asked cautiously.

She closed her eyes, pale lashes caressing her full cheeks. She seemed to think for a moment before opening them again, “I know that Mamae took the bad men away and she has gone with Papae. That she would want me to stay here. I hear things, Hahren. I know that the wolf who helped me makes people upset and that they are afraid of things they do not understand. I know that he helped me so I am alone but not alone. I know many things that I should not, it makes people uncomfortable.”  

“People can be very mean when they are afraid. I would have… I would like to take care of you. I’d like to adopt you – If you’ll allow it, Ivoriel.” _Creators, why was this so hard?_

Ivoriel thought hard for a moment. Leaning closer to his face, she placed her small hands on his cheeks. He held his breath at the sensation of tiny hands, caressing, exploring his face, searching for something he could not place. Her crystalline blue eyes pierced through his very soul as she stared into his brown orbs. She smiled, as though pleased with whatever answer she discovered.

“You have a good heart but it has tiny cracks in it. It was full to bursting and then it did. You have felt a hurt that should not have been but you are still a good person, Aedanthir Lavellan. You do not believe it but you are.” She smiled softly, still holding his face.

“How…?” Creators he had so many questions: how she knew his name, how she knew his hurt, his heart.

“I can see it: Plain as the markings of June on your face. It will be ok. I will stay. You need me here,” she stated firmly.

“You are an old soul, da’len. We will learn – together,” he said softly.

“Are you hungry, Ivoriel? Let’s get you some food in your belly,” he said playfully, tickling her tummy, breaking the palpable tension of the previous conversation.

Ivoriel squealed in delight as he tickled her. He grabbed her by the middle and lifted her high above his head before carrying her from the tent. He put her down outside and she held his hand as they walked to meet the rest of the clan.

“What should I call you, Hahren?” she inquired.

“What would you like to call me, child?” he countered.

“I like calling you Hahren but I can call you Papae if you want, like she would have,” she said as if they were casually discussing the weather and not his own departed daughter.

“I… I would like that, da’len.” he managed to choke out.

They continued walking through camp, greeting and waving at those they passed.

“Welcome!” cried a few.

“Hello!” shouted others.

“Glad to see you are feeling better!” bellowed one mighty looking warrior.

Ivoriel did not let go of Aedan’s hand as they walked toward the Keeper’s hut. He pushed open the flap to the hut and they entered.

“I’m glad to see you are well, Ivoriel,” the Keeper said without turning from the tonic she was preparing. “Come, sit with me, da’len. We have much to discuss.”

Ivoriel looked to Aedan with worried eyes. He gave her a gentle push towards the old woman, nodding in reassurance. She slowly released her grip on his hand, moving forward to sit with to the wise woman.

“Are you feeling better, da’len? You gave us all quite a scare,” the Keeper inquired.

“Yes, I am feeling much better. Thank you for your kindness,” the child replied thoughtfully.

“Think nothing of it, child. We are happy to help,” the Keeper smiled and eyed Aedan who smiled and nodded in an unspoken reply.

“Has Aedan spoken with you about staying here with us, da’len?” Deshanna queried.

“Yes Ma’am, I will stay,” Ivoriel replied quietly.

“Excellent news. I will make the necessary arrangements for your introduction to the clan.”

“What are you making, Keeper?” she asked, eyes wide with curiosity.

“Some of the halla are unwell. I am making a potion to help break their fever,” Deshanna said, reaching for another vial of Elfroot extract.

“They aren’t sick,” Ivoriel stated, shaking her head.

“Oh?” the Keeper responded, raising an eyebrow.

“No, they keep eating the plant that look like fingers. The one that likes the dark. Fel–… Fen–, Fenhedis!” the child exclaimed proudly. Aedan nearly burst as he tried to contain his laughter as Deshanna blushed at the child’s inadvertent use of profanity. She shot him _that_ look, silencing him immediately.

“Did you mean Felandaris, da’len?” the Keeper coughed, stifling a smile.

“That one – Yes! It smells funny. Mamae used it to keep flies away; she would smear it above the halla’s pen to keep them from biting. They would get stuck and then the spiders would eat them and the healers would use the webs to help stop bleeding,” Ivoriel recalled tapping a small finger against her chin, deep in thought. Keeper Deshanna dipped her head, indicating to Aedan to go investigate. He nodded, exiting the Keeper’s tent. _My, how clever she is!_

He asked two younger hunters to accompany him. Brayden and Emil were barely into their second summer as full-fledged hunters to Aedan’s six, but they were eager enough to prove themselves. Brayden’s apprentice, Tomas, followed close behind. 

“Good to see you, Aedan. Your expertise has been sorely missed,” Brayden stated, motioning toward the freshly dug pits filled with darkspawn corpses in preparation for burning. They walked past the decaying corpses and towards the halla enclosure.

“We heard what happened – From the others. Are you ok? I know it’s been hard for you since… well, since Leena died. Amora has been worried.” Brayden asked, clasping the older elf’s shoulder firmly. Brayden and his mate, Amora, had expected their child a few weeks after his own. They had been blessed with a healthy baby boy, while he had been grieving his family.   

“Her clan– There was nothing… no one left to save. They never stood a chance, even if they’d had time to prepare…,” his voice choked off, leaving the thought unfinished.

“The Darkspawn are getting worse. We’ll have to inform the Wardens soon,” he continued. “In the meantime, the Keeper wishes for the child to stay here, among her people. I volunteered to take her – I have a duty to fulfill. For Leena,” Aedan stated softly.

“Good on you, man,” Brayden piped up, “Leena would be proud – I know she would.”

Tomas had been hanging behind the older men, waiting and watching. His curiosity got the better of him and he voiced his thoughts:

“There are whispers, Hahren…,” Tomas managed to croak out.

Aedan grumbled. _I really do not have the patience for this…_

“Is it true? She will be the one to…,” his voice dropping to no more than a whisper. “Has the Dread Wolf caught her scent?” the apprentice finally asked pointedly.

Aedan stopped walking and spun around to meet the young man’s now fearful gaze, “And what if he has? Would you be the one to throw the child to the wolves to save your own skin?” Aedan retorted angrily, struggling to maintain a shred of composure. “She is destined for something great and I will speak of it no more.”

“Ir abelas, Hahren.” Tomas replied eyes cast downward.

“Tel’Abelas,” Aedan countered angrily.

“Will you tell her?” Emil cautiously asked his former mentor, attempting to diffuse the overall discomfort of the situation. _Why couldn’t Tomas keep his bloody mouth shut?_

“She is still young but, yes, she will have to be told. She knows more than she should, for her age,” Aedan said sadly, as they finally reached the halla enclosure.

“And what of her magic?” questioned Brayden.

“Keeper Deshanna will teach her, I suppose. She seemed rather impressed that a four year old could freeze halla to the ground.” Aedan chuckled at the mental image of a frozen hallasicle.

“Leena and I, we– always wanted a daughter…,” Aedan continued, smiling sadly. “…And I suspect she eats much less than the lot of you, so that will be a pleasant change.” he jested, nudging the younger elves as they let out a unified groan.

“She’s strong; her energy feels like Keeper Deshanna’s. She will want for nothing, Hahren. You have my word.” Emil stated confidently, clapping his friend again on the back jovially.

“By the time this clan is done with her, she’ll be the most capable mage-warrior-rogue in all of Thedas!” Brayden proclaimed confidently. The younger elves laughed and guffawed at their cleverness, as Aedan shook his head with a chuckle.

_The next few years will be interesting…_

Eventually they discovered Ivoriel’s claim had been correct; there was Felandaris within reach of the halla. The hunters pulled the offending herbs from the ground and made the halla keeper aware of the latent danger. They dropped off the herbs they collected to the alchemist and parted ways. Aedan made his way back to the Keeper’s hut to collect his daughter. _His_ daughter. He could scarcely believe it himself sometimes.

He pushed opened the flap of the Keeper’s hut and stopped–

_Snow._ It was snowing inside the Keeper’s hut and _his_ daughter was on her back, giggling and squealing with delight. 

_Interesting indeed…_

~~~~~~~~~~

Three days later the clan was celebrating their newest member at dusk. Keeper Deshanna spoke during the festivities, introducing the newest member of the clan. Aedan and Ivoriel stood waiting as the Keeper spoke.

“As many of you may have heard, the recent increase in darkspawn attacks have claimed our sister clan, Tabris, less than a fortnight ago. Our brave hunters set out to assist, despite the obvious dangers. While our brave hunters arrived after the horde had departed, the attack proved too much for the clan and nearly everyone was slain,” she spoke solemnly.

The clan spoke in hushed whispers of disbelief, shock, and sadness – while a few sobbed openly. All eyes were on the Keeper as she continued:

“However! There was a single survivor,” she proclaimed, extending her arm towards Ivoriel, beckoning her to come forward. Ivoriel glanced up at Aedan, seeking assurance. He smiled down at her, nodding reassuringly. They walked forward together, her head held high and chest puffed out with pride, remembering her part in the informal naming ceremony.

“Ivoriel of Clan Tabris, you have been called by the Gods for an extraordinary responsibility. Your struggles will be many and your journey will be a difficult one. Do you accept the burdens the Gods have tasked you with?”

“I do, Keeper,” she stated firmly.

“You will not be alone in your trials: Aedanthir Lavellan, you have been chosen to guard and protect this da’len, to guide her towards her the path of virtue and to sway her from those who would see her fail. Do you accept the burdens the Gods have tasked you with?”

“I do, Keeper,” he indicated, glancing down at his charge.

“Then with all the blessings of Mythal, I welcome this child to Clan Lavellan and in so doing; bestow upon her the name Tashaintarasylnin, the Stormbringer, Last of Clan Tabris, and First of Clan Lavellan.”

The clan roared with applause and sounds of merriment, equally thankful for their newest member and the fact that their Keeper had finally chosen a First. They celebrated long into the night and even after Aedan excused them, carrying his exhausted daughter to their home.

She stirred once during their trip home, her ice blue eyes heavily lidded with sleep.

“Did I do alright, _Papae_?” she asked sleepily.

“You were perfect, _asha’lan_ ,” he responded, his heart nearly full to bursting. She smiled before snuggling to his chest and returning beyond the Veil.

As he entered their dwelling, Aedan wondered what he had done to deserve this blessing this, gift, and this second chance at happiness. Whatever Gods had shown him favor, he did not intend to waste this opportunity – even if that God was Fen’Harel himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to [Project Elvhen](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4401050?view_full_work=true), the name Ashalantarasylnin is defined as daughter of the storm. From the words: asha'lan (daughter) + tarasyl'nin (storm)  
> According to [Fenxshiral’s Tumblr](http://fenxshiral.tumblr.com/post/131909123553/so-ive-been-writing-a-terribly-malformed-fic), the formal honorific Tashain is defined as Miss, Mistress, or diminutive feminine honorific. In this instance, I am using it as Mistress.  
> Alternate spellings: Ashatarsylnin, Ashatarasylin, Ashatarylin  
> Word Count: 3,359


	3. Growing Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Between bullies and books, childhood can be hard when you don't feel like you belong. Our Hero struggles to fit into her clan and make friends. But saying goodbye to them could be the hardest thing she's ever done.

“Just like I showed you, da’len,” Emil said sternly, pointing to another fish.

 “I’ll get it this time, Hahren,” Tashaintarasylnin gleamed confidently, as she aimed her spear at her prey.

“Remember that the water changes the angle, you must–,” Emil cut off as she tossed the fishing spear, pinning the fish to the riverbed.

“I did it!” the child of six summers shouted proudly, placing her hand on her hips and jutting out her chest with pride.

“Nicely done, Tasha. Your papae will be pleased to hear it.” Emil replied with a smile.

She was fire and ice. The ebbing tide and the crashing wave. Her laughter infectious and her spirit indomitable. Over the past two years, she had grown into an adorable young lady; her snow-white hair spiraling in tight curls framing her heart-shaped face. Her pale blue eyes hid a wisdom beyond her years as they absorbed every detail, striving to take in as much of the world as possible. Deshanna had been teaching her how to control her magic that would flare uncontrollably when she was upset or angry. Deshanna’s prediction had been correct thus far – She was undoubtedly a Stormbringer: her emotions dictating the weather. Her sadness brought the rain, her anger summoned thunder and lightning, and her happiness bid the sun to shine. Aedan had also been instructed on ways to calm her down could she not do so herself. For the most part, days among the clan were blessed with warm sunshine.

The prior summer, Keeper Deshanna and Aedan told her of her clan and she had cried. She knew these people were not her birth family but they were the only family she knew. She could remember a woman with dark hair and tree like branches upon her face with a melodious voice but the memories felt hazy, like a dream she would forget upon waking.

The clan pooled their collective knowledge, pouring it into the youth. She learned herbology from the women of the clan and occasionally made things blow up with the alchemist, Cecil, much to the chagrin of her father. When Tasha was eight, her magic manifested in earnest and Deshanna began a more rigorous training along with her additional lessons as First. Brayden tutored her in History and War Tactics. While Emil schooled her in the ways of the Elven pantheon, the Chantry, Magical Theory, and Nobility. Tomas became like a brother to her – likewise teaching her all the things a brother would, especially those things she should not know. By the time she was twelve, he had taught her to pick most every lock upon which she laid her hands. They took turns creating intricate locks and puzzles for the other to solve.

While most in the clan were courteous and polite, others were less than. Some of the older children overheard the adults’ whispers and made sure she was aware she would always be an outsider to them. They teased her mercilessly, cruelly for her lack of lineage and the fact that she was a “wolf lover”. She struggled to pay them no mind but their venomous words wheedled into her heart. For many years, Tasha had few friends her own age and her father saw to it that the majority of her free time was engrossed in some form of schooling, meditation, or training.   

As Tasha blossomed into adolescence, her elven heritage became more obvious; her long arms and legs were quite often _too_ long for her liking, making her self-conscious about her changing body. Eventually, she began the adjustment from awkward, gangly teen to beautiful young woman. Her hair relaxing from the tight spiral curls to loose flowing waves of pale spun gold reaching the small of her back. Her bright blue eyes shifted, as storm clouds often do, to a pale, yet vivid, violet. By 16, she developed all the ordinarily desirable feminine curves and her height rivalled that of her father, making her an easy target for bullying. Selecting over-sized pants and baggy shirts to hide her over-developed body for the hypercritical eyes of her peers. Overall, she was the embodiment of ancient Elvhen beauty; however, most her age knew little of her historic exquisiteness and she always felt lesser than regarding her attractiveness. She was further ostracized from her peers by her lack of Vallaslin. She understood the Keeper’s explanation and reasoning behind the decision and knew she need not explain herself to anyone but the desire to fit in was still ever-present.

When she began to long for companionship her father and clan mates could not provide, her father sat her down and explained the ‘Facts of Life.’ While sex and self-discovery was not frowned upon within the clan, the discussion thoroughly terrified her as he went into vivid detail about courtship and intimacy in addition to gruesome specifics regarding the birthing process, stopping by the healer’s hut to witness said process, for emphasis. Suffice to say after that _enlightening_ conversation, she was able to conquer her developing urges with relative ease.

The clan had a few run-ins with Darkspawn but easily dispatched their small numbers. Keeper Deshanna made the difficult decision to contact the Grey Wardens regarding the growing threat. In 9:30 Dragon, the Fifth Blight threatened to overwhelm all of Fereldan. The actions of a Grey Warden named Neria Surana ensured the Blight was over before it truly began and Fereldan united under a new king, a young man named Alistair. There were whispers that the new king was in love with the Grey Warden who smote the Archdemon – a human/elf romance nearly turning the Fereldan court on its head. Tasha thought it strange that people expected humans to love only humans and elves to love only elves – her father always stressing that love was an emotion, not limited to any singular race or even gender.

The Keeper had once asked her to accompany her to Kirkwall, for “ _educational purposes_ ” _._ They visited the local Chantry and sat in witness to a beautiful wedding. Tasha had never seen so many different kinds of flowers in one location in her entire life. She remembered thinking how romantic it was to watch two people be so in love, an audible sigh escaping her lips on numerous occasions. Deshanna told her of her own bonding ceremony with her late husband, Yeshua. She recalled fondly how in love they were and how furious her father had been. Tasha was wide-eyed, enthralled by her tale of true love conquering all obstacles. Less than two weeks later, some crazy blew the building sky high. After which the Battle of Kirkwall began coming to a close with the death of Knight Commander Meredith at the hands of the Champion of Kirkwall.

After the tumultuous events at Kirkwall, Keeper Deshanna made the difficult decision to move the clan, eventually settling just outside of Wycome. Deshanna remarked on multiple occasions during the journey that she was ‘too old for this’ and everything hurt.

~~~~~~~~~~

The year was 9:40 Dragon and the war between Mages and Templars had spread to all corners of Thedas. The groups were openly fighting one another, slaughtering each other and innocent civilians indiscriminately. There were rumors of a meeting, organized by Divine Justinia herself; A meeting designed towards garnering peace between the two super powers. Something called the Conclave.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Tasha, you know my feelings on the subject and as far as it’s concerned, this discussion is closed. You _will_ go to the Conclave and you _will_ voice your concerns as a Mage and as a representative of clan Lavellan.” Deshanna spoke to her First directly and firmly, her decision would not be swayed.

“Keeper, I will not leave him when he is this sick! Who will tend to him in my place?” Tasha retorted defiantly.

“You should not be gone for longer than two weeks. Your father is a stubborn one, he will be fine,” she said reassuringly. “I am asking you to go in my place and your father agrees. I know you do not want to leave him but you must go in my stead. I am far too old to travel such a distance.”

Tasha huffed in exasperation, exiting the Keeper’s hut, a failed attempt to slam the hut’s flap fueling her rage, as she walked angrily towards her father’s tent. Moving the partition cloth aside, she slipped into dimly lit room where her father lay sleeping. She checked the sleeping man’s vitals, touching his face lovingly. The older man opened his tired eyes and smiled gently.

“What troubles you, asha’lan?” he asked weakly.

“Keeper Deshanna says you wish for me to go to the Conclave but I don’t want to leave you,” Tasha said sadly.

“I need you to go for us, for your clan and your friends, and for the welfare of the mages who were not so fortunate.” Her father said softly. “I am dying, Tasha. I have lived a happy life full of love and laughter with a young woman I am proud to call my daughter; others are not so lucky.”

“I cannot do this without you, Papae. You have taught me everything except how to live without you.” Tasha choked, clasping his withered hand and fighting back tears.

“You can do this, da’len. You can and you will,” the dying man spoke carefully.

“Wh–What if I can’t help? What if they will not listen to me? What if I fail?”

“Then your clan, your family, will still be here and we will think no less of you and I will love you regardless. You are so much more than you realize – never forget that,” the old man said firmly grasping his daughter’s hand.

“I will go… For you,” Tasha said with resolve. “I will tell them that mages can be trusted and are not all inclined to becoming abominations.”

“I know you will, Tashaintarasylnin,” he said, weaving his fingers into her pale-blonde hair and kissing her forehead tenderly.

“I love you, Papae.”

“I love you more, Tasha.”

~~~~~~~~~~

_Where am I? What –_ Her thoughts interrupted by the chilling skittering of hundreds of tiny feet. Things were coming her way – and fast. She looked up, seeing a bright light, and ran. An ethereal figure reached out to her and she stretched her arm out desperately to grasp the figure’s outstretched hand. A bright light overwhelmed her senses and then the whole world went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading!  
> Word Count: 1,685


	4. The Prisoner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her last memories were of attending the Conclave. When she wakes, she is an accused mass murderer. Can she regain her memories before she's thrown to the proverbial wolves?

_Why do my knees hurt?_

_Where am I?_

Vision slowly coming back into focus, she looks around at her unfamiliar surroundings. The cold stone floor beneath her clarifying her aching knees. She glanced to the side coming face-to-face with a soldier’s blade. She gasped aloud as the door in front of her swung open, hitting the stonework with a loud bang. Two women march towards her, one of them look absolutely furious.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now. The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Except for you.” the brunette warrior spat angrily.

“What do you mean everyone is dead?” Tasha stated in disbelief.

“Explain this!” the woman said angrily, grabbing her aching left arm.

The manacles binding her wrist clanged loudly at the furious woman’s action and a bright green light flashes from her palm as a sharp pain shot through her arm.

“I… can’t,” she stammered, trying to bite back the renewed pain shooting from the mark.

“What do you mean you can’t?” the woman spat, venom dripping from her words.

“I don’t know what that is or how it got there.”

“You’re lying!” the brunette woman roared, launching herself as if to strike the falseness falling from her mouth.

The other woman firmly grasped the brunette’s wrist, stopping her companion mid-swing.

“We need her, Cassandra,” the redhead stated plainly.

“I can’t believe it. All those people… Dead.” Tasha said despairingly, tears forming in the corners of her lavender eyes.

“Do you remember what happened? How this began?” the redheaded woman asked in an Orlesian accent.

“I remember running. Things were chasing me. And then… a woman?” Tasha responded.

“A woman?” the redhead said, crossing her arms over her chest, curiosity peaked.

“She reached out to me, but then…,” Tasha struggled to remember, shaking her head. She grasped for a memory that had simply vanished, like waking from a dream.

Cassandra grasped her companion’s arms, stopping the exchange prematurely.

“Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take her to the rift.” Cassandra stated firmly, turning to Tasha as Leliana exited the damp dungeon.

“What did happen?” Tasha asked as Cassandra removed the manacles on her wrists with rope tied snuggly.

“It will be easier to show you,” Cassandra stated flatly.

Tasha followed Cassandra up the stairs to the main hall of what appeared to be a Chantry and towards the front door. The brunette pushed open the large oak doors and they pair stepped outside into the snow.

Tasha gazed up at the sky, a spiraling maelstrom of angry, old magic split the sky. She felt her mouth fall open at the sight.

“We call it the Breach. It is a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger by the hour. It’s not the only such rift, just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave.”

“An explosion can do that?” Tasha asked bewildered.

“This one did,” Cassandra retorts. “Unless we act, the breach may grow until it swallows the world.”

The mark on Tasha’s hand flared angrily, sending her to her knees crying out in pain.

“Each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads… and it’s killing you. It may be the key to stopping this but there isn’t much time.” Cassandra stated matter-of-factly level with Tasha’s face.

“I understand.” Tasha stated dutifully.

“Then…?” the Seeker said hopefully.

“I’ll do what I can,” she replied earnestly. “Whatever it takes.”

Cassandra helps her to her feet, escorting her through the small hamlet. Denizens of the village eye her angrily, swearing and shouting obscenities as they pass. Tasha stares at the ground, terrified at the blatant display of unadulterated rage sent her direction.

“They have decided your guilt – They need it. The people of Haven mourn our Most Holy, Divine Justinia, head of the Chantry. The Conclave was hers. It was a chance for peace between mages and Templars. She brought their leaders together. Now they are dead.”

They walk through another gate closer to the edge of town.

“We lash out, like the sky. But we must think beyond ourselves, as she did, until the breach is sealed,” Cassandra stated, pulling a dagger from her side and cutting the ropes binding Tasha’s wrists.

“There will be a trial. I can promise no more,” Cassandra said turning toward the direction of the breach. The pair cross over a bridge lined with injured soldiers, bodies of the deceased, and those seeking comfort from a brother reciting the Chant, and a young man rocking back and forth in the fetal position. Tasha tore her gaze from the broken man, turning towards the massive rift tearing the sky asunder.

“Open the gate! We are heading into the valley!” Cassandra shouted at the two soldiers guarding the second gate.

Passing through the gate and into the valley, they pass a few barricades and fleeing soldiers shouting something about the end of the world. As they crest the hill, the mark on her hand flared resentfully sending her to her knees in agony.

“The pulses are coming faster now,” Cassandra said, pulling her to her feet. “The larger the Breach grows, the more rifts appear, the more demons we face.”

Tasha nodded in acknowledgment as they continued on their mission.

“How _did_ I survive the blast?” Tasha questioned her companion.

“They said you… stepped out of a rift, then fell unconscious. They say a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was,” Cassandra said thoughtfully. “Everything farther in the valley was laid to waste, including the Temple of Sacred Ashes. I suppose you will see soon enough.” She added, refocusing on the current mission.

Crossing yet another bridge, a rogue meteor lands directly in front of the pair, sending them both tumbling onto the frozen river below. A second meteor slams into the frozen lake; a horrifying demon emerging from the black and green haze rising from the site of impact.

“Stay behind me!” Cassandra ordered her, rushing towards her target.

Tasha stood dumbstruck, watching the battle playing out before her eyes. Her wandering attention drawn to another pool of angry magic, whispering the promise of calling forth a second monster. Tasha looked around for something, anything to protect herself, her eyes falling to a supply chest with a bow and quiver. Grabbing her salvation, she aims pulling the bowstring taut, and letting the arrow fly landing squarely betwixt the eyes of the newly formed Shade. It slumps to the ground melting into a pudding of black, viscous liquid. _Papae would be so proud!_

Rejoicing her small victory, she snaps to attention as her companion rushes towards her, sword drawn.

“Drop you weapon! _Now!_ ” she barked aggressively.

“All right. Have it your way…,” she stated, lowering the bow to the ground slowly. _There was no **urgent** reason to reveal she was a mage… Right?_

“Wait,” Cassandra relented, sheathing her sword. “I cannot protect you and I cannot expect you to be defenseless. I should remember you agreed to come willingly.”

“Where are your soldiers?”

“At the forward camp or fighting. We are on our own for now.”

The pair ran along the frozen river, laying waste to any demon or monster unfortunate enough to engage them.

“We’re getting close to the rift,” Cassandra shouted as they crested another steeper hill. “You can hear the fighting.”

“Who’s fighting?” Tasha cried back.

“You’ll see soon enough. We must help them!” the warrior retorted, preparing her shield and sword before jumping into the fray.

Easily defeating the attacking monsters, Tasha was flanked by an older male elf.

“Quickly! Before more come through!” he yells, grasping her wrist firmly and thrusting it towards the open rift. The mark sparks furiously, magic arcing into the fissure, and sealing it firmly.

“What did you do?” Tasha says, eyeing him suspiciously.

“ _I_ did nothing. The credit is yours,” the bald elf said with a genuine smile,

“I closed that thing? How?” she stuttered in disbelief.

“Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand. I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach’s wake – and it seems I was correct,” he stated solemnly.

“Meaning it could also close the Breach itself,” Cassandra chimed in from her right.

“Possibly,” responded the elf. “It seems you hold the key to our salvation.” He concluded, grasping his hands together loosely.

“Good to know. Here I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever,” a dwarf said from behind Tasha, she turned slightly to meet his gaze.

“Varric Tethras: rogue, storyteller, and, occasionally, unwelcome tagalong,” he said smoothly, winking at Cassandra, who made a disgusted groan. "What do they call you?"

She swallowed. _My name…what is my name…_ struggling to shuffle the fragmented memories into coherent thoughts. She stammered “Tasha… my name is Tasha Lavellan, First of Clan Lavellan and Last of Clan Tabris.”

“That’s… a nice crossbow you have there.” Tasha offered, before anyone could ask any further questions.

“Ah, isn’t she? Bianca and I have been through a lot together,” he gloated proudly.

“You named your crossbow Bianca?” Tasha said with a smirk.

“Of course. And she’ll be great company in the valley.”

“Absolutely not. Your help is appreciated, Varric, but…,” Cassandra interjected.

“Have you been in the valley lately, Seeker? Your soldiers aren’t in control any more. You need me.” Cassandra sneered at his words and groaned in disgust.

“My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions,” the elf added, “I am pleased to see you still live.”

“He means, ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept.’” Added Varric for clarification.

“You seem to know a great deal about it all,” she remarks curiously.

“Solas is an apostate, well-versed in such matters,” Cassandra interjected helpfully.

“Technically, all mages are now apostates, Cassandra,” he said wryly, “My travels have allowed me to learn much of the Fade, far beyond the experience of any Circle mage. I came to offer whatever help I can give with the Breach. If it is not closed, we are all doomed, regardless of origin.” He stated, glancing at her with a slightly judgmental gaze.

“And what will you do once this is all over?” she queried.

“One hopes that those in power will remember who helped and who did not,” he said with a small smile. “Cassandra, you should know that the magic involved here is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Your prisoner may not be a mage, but I find it difficult to imagine any mage having such power.”

“Understood,” Cassandra acknowledged, nodding. “We must get to the forward camp quickly.”

Ascending the mountainside, the group made short work of any residual Shades and Wraiths. Cassandra made a comment about Leliana, wistfully hoping her friend made the trip safely. While crossing a frozen lake, Solas made a comment directed towards Tasha.

“I assume you are Dalish by your mention of being First of clan Lavellan and last of clan Tabris, yet I have not heard of the latter. Tell me: Were you sent here by clan Lavellan or clan Tabris?” he inquired critically.

“I’m not surprised, most have not – They were wiped out by Darkspawn many years ago,” she retorted curtly, “But if you must know, I was tasked to attend the Conclave by my Keeper and to speak on her behalf.”

“I… see,” he stated quietly, stung by the candor of her words.

“Can’t you elves play nice for once?” Varric chuckled, suffusing the tense situation with a much-needed dose of humor.

After dispelling a few more shades and closing a second rift, the group pushed through yet another set of gates towards Leliana and someone Tasha did not recognize. As they got closer, the pair seem to be arguing about her fate. After an intense argument, spoken as if she herself were not present, the older man, identified as Chancellor Roderick, ordered Cassandra to call a retreat, stating their position hopeless. Informing Tasha of all the options for approaching the Temple, she decides on taking a mountain path to avoid any additional bloodshed, with the possibility of saving a missing patrol. They make their way along the snowy mountain path, part of a previous mining complex, Cassandra had explained. Eventually coming across part of the missing patrol, dead. The sounds of clashing metal draw their attention to the surviving members battling demons pouring from an open rift. The remaining members of the patrol thanked Tasha profusely for her thoughtfulness after swiftly defeating the assaulting shades and made their way back to safety along the path the group had just cleared. Continuing forward, the group made their way to what little remained of Andraste’s final resting place.

~~~~~~~~~~

The first time he saw her, he thought he had died and entered the Fade itself. Her piercing violet eyes as brilliant as the finest jewels in all of Thedas, flashed with an unbridled fierceness and her long, pale tresses wove around her face as she fought, her prowess with a bow he had never seen its equal. Then he saw her ears, the long, delicate points protruding from her tangled locks. An  _elf._  Her lithe frame carried her  _everywhere_  and he watched in awe, his mouth agape, as she deftly twirled away from a rage demon’s clutches, effortlessly flipped backwards, and unleashed a hail of arrows into a lesser shade’s heart before twirling back to the rage demon planting an arrow directly between its eyes. Her fluid movements were as well practiced, as they were mesmerizing. She was so stunning he just could not bring himself to look away…

“Commander!” Cassandra’s voice interrupted his daydream as he turned to face the Seeker.

“Cassandra,” he greeted her. “You arrived just in time. We’ve been pushed back; we wouldn’t have been able to hold position had you not closed the rift.”

“The thanks belongs to our  _prisoner_ ,” she pointed to the breath-taking elf he had just been ogling.

Tasha looked up at that moment, her whole body tensed under the scrutiny of their gaze.

“Then, I owe you my thanks, my lady,” the Commander nodded approvingly. His smile, though weary, was genuine. Turning once more to Cassandra, he asked, “We can hold them off for a while longer, Seeker. How much time will you need?”

“As much as you can give us,” Cassandra said.

“Very well,” he nodded. “Maker watch over you,” was his parting prayer. His honey-brown eyes met her pale lavender ones once more and her lids fluttered at the intensity of his gaze. A moment later, he was gone, charging a gaggle of newly formed shades.

Tasha wrenched her eyes away and back to the ominous rift in the sky. Her gaze hardened and she turned to Cassandra, "Let’s go."

“That is where you walked out of the Fade and our soldiers found you. They said a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was.” Cassandra stated sadly.  

They walked along the charred path leading to what was left of the temple; they passed charred husks of corpses, their faces contorted in final expressions of terror and pain. Tasha’s heart physically hurt at the needless loss of life. She fought back tears that pricked in her eyes, blinking them away defiantly.

Standing on what remained of a balcony, the group gazed up at the Breach. Tasha heard footfall from behind her and turned to see Leliana racing towards them.

“You’re here! Thank the Maker!” she puffed out in relief.

“Leliana, have your men take up positions around the Temple,” Cassandra said stoically.

Leliana nods, returning to her men to provide them with their new directive.

“This is your chance to end this,” Cassandra says turning to Tasha. “Are you ready?”

“I’ll try but I don’t know if I can reach that much, less close it,” Tasha stated earnestly.

“No. This rift was the first and it is the key. Seal it, and perhaps we seal the Breach,” Solas indicated.

“Let’s find a way down. Be careful,” Cassandra said ushering the party forward, deeper into the skeleton of the holy site.

As they descend to the floor of the Temple circling closer to the fissure, a malevolent voice echoed through the air.

“Now is the hour of our victory. Bring forth the sacrifice,” the voice rumbled.

“What are we hearing?” Cassandra asked in confusion.

“At a guess: the person who created the Breach,” Solas said glancing over at two archers readying their bows. The group passed enormous red crystals that hummed with a sinister melody.

“You know this stuff is red lyrium, Seeker.” Varric said fearfully.

“I _see_ it, Varric,” Cassandra says voice tinged with annoyance.

“But what’s it doing here?”

“Magic could have drawn on lyrium beneath the temple, corrupting it…,” Solas hypothesized.

“It’s evil. Whatever you do, don’t touch it,” Varric said quietly.

The same malevolent voice spoke from the direction of the Breach, echoing from memories of the Fade.

“Keep the sacrifice still.”

“Someone! Help me!” the voice of Divine Justinia echoed loudly.

“That is Divine Justinia’s voice!” Cassandra cried, breaking her usual stoic expression. The group continues towards the Breach.

“Someone! Help me!” the Divine’s voice rang out again.

“What’s going on here?” Tasha’s eyes widened hearing her own voice played back as a memory of the Fade.

Cassandra turned to her, eyes wide, “That was your voice. Most Holy called out to you but…,” her question left unfinished as a bright light overwhelmed them: a vision of the Divine held aloft by swirling spirals of red energy and a large figure with glowing red eyes looming over her. Tasha saw herself jog into the room,

“What’s going on here?” her memory repeated,

“Run while you can!” Justinia’s vision cried out, “Warn them!”

The specter looming over the Divine’s frail body turned in Tasha’s direction.

“We have an intruder. Slay the elf!” the voice boomed as another flash of light overtook the shared vision, before fading.

“You **_were_** there!” Cassandra roared, grabbing Tasha by the arms and shaking her. “Who attacked? And the Divine, is she…?” Cassandra pleaded with her eyes, desperate for an answer. “Was this vision true? What are we seeing?”

“I don’t remember!” Tasha said pulling away from the distraught woman.

“Echoes of what happened here. The Fade bleeds into this place,” Solas explained, examining the Rift above them. “This rift is not sealed, but it is closed… albeit temporarily. I believe with the mark, the rift can be opened and then sealed properly and safely. However, opening the rift will likely attract attention from the other side.” He concluded.

“That means demons!” the Seeker bellowed at the soldiers continuing to take positions surrounding them, “Stand ready!”

With a final nod to Tasha and an approving glance from Solas, she raised her hand to the fissure and focused her energy to will it to open. An enormous Pride demon appeared on bended knee and let out a deep, ominous laugh.

“We must strip its defenses! Wear it down! Quickly! Disrupt the rift!” Cassandra shouted over the heat of battle.

Tasha focused her energy on the rift once more, sending the demon to its knees, defeated.

“Now! Seal the Rift!” Cassandra bellowed.

Tasha, exhausted from the fight, struggled to maintain hold of the power coming from her palm.

“Do it!” the Seeker exclaimed, her sword bisecting a Shade.

Power surged through her hand, the pain flaring beyond anything she had ever experienced, and depleting her remaining stores of mana. She fought the feeling of her companion’s voices fading further away and her vision going dark.

The citizens of Haven stared at the rift expectantly as a green light shot into the sky. A strong, swift breeze swept through the town, followed by a thunderous boom. Anxiously, their eyes returned to the fissure tearing the sky asunder and let out a united cheer:

The Breach had stopped growing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word Count: 3,328


	5. The Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I made an "uh-oh" yesterday by posting chapter 6 as chapter 5. *Actual* Chapter 5, titled 'The Dream', can be read as a stand-alone since doesn't really have anything to do with moving the story along and its pretty much PWP. I always wondered what my Lavellan would dream about for 3 days and this is what I came up with.
> 
> This chapter does bump the fics rating to E but, again, it can be skipped if thats not what you're here for. Otherwise, enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations are available in the end notes.

It was always the same dream, the one she would forget upon waking – the one that both infuriated and comforted. It was always in the same place, wearing the same clothes, with the same person – the one whose face she could never see…

She had spoken to Keeper Deshanna about it on more than one occasion. She suggested that perhaps it was a memory and spoke of the prophecy. She kept the lurid details to herself, not quite sure how the Keeper would respond. One thing she did know: the dream always left her in a cold sweat and aching for an unspoken desire to be fulfilled.

~~~~~

She is standing on a balcony, her hand resting elegantly atop the railing. The sun is slowly rising, filling the sky with the pale blues and oranges of morning. The sun shines through her pale blonde hair, painting it in golden light. She is wearing a sleeping gown made of fine silk, plum in color, gold clasps and crystal embellishments secure the gown around her neck and gather it above her belly. The loose folds leave little to the imagination as the rising sun filters through the sheer fabric, drawing the attention of the man lying in the shadows upon a large bed.

“On dhea, ma’sa’lath,” she says with a smile. The man rises from the bed as she resumes watching the sunrise. He joins her on the balcony, stepping behind her and sliding his hands across her abdomen, pulling her into his embrace. He dips his head down to place a kiss on her cheek. She tilts her head, coaxing him to move lower, his lips brushing the sensitive skin of her neck. She shivers in his arms, his warmth a welcome respite to the chilly morning air.

“Come back to bed, vhenan,” he murmurs, trailing slow kisses along her neck and shoulder. Placing her hands over his, she turns her head to look at him, a coy grin painting her lips.

“You are insatiable, ma’isha,” she teases. His hand moves upwards, gently brushing over her breast. Her breath catches as her nipple pebbles at his attention.

“Isalan hima sa i’na,” he purrs into her ear as his fingers gently tease her nub through the fabric of the thin gown. She responds with a sigh of pleasure and fingernails digging into his forearm. His languid kisses trace along her exposed shoulder and up her neck. Her nurses her ear, nipping and biting the sensitive lobe, stoking the growing desire forming low in her belly.

His action are languorous, calculating, deliberate – He draws her back into the darkened alcove of their shared room. His length presses deliciously against the cleft of her bottom and she mewls at the attention he provides her eager frame. His skillful hands rove to her heating core; practiced strokes releasing a flood of wet need, slicking her thighs. As his legs meet the edge of their bed, he releases the clasps of her shift, stepping away only long enough to allow it to pool on the floor. He pulls her naked form to the muscled plains of his chest, coaxing her between his legs as he scoots them to mountain of soft pillows leaning against the headboard. 

She cranes her neck to meet his eager kisses with needy kisses of her own as he continues his ministrations on her willing body. He slips a digit into her desire soaked sex and her hips buck against his deft fingers. The palm of his hand presses roughly against her swollen nub and she moans wantonly into his mouth, breaking their lustful kiss.

“Lasa em tua rosas’da’din, vhenan,” he whispers darkly, slipping another digit into her folds. She is undone – She cries out, back arching she throws her head back onto his shoulder as her pleasure crests and crashes over her like a great wave. They ride out her together, his movements only stilled when her eyes are heavy, her pleasure ebbing to a dull throb.

He slips from his seated position behind her, carefully resting her against the pillows cluttering their bed. She hums, looking momentarily sated, as he leans down to press his lips to hers, drawing her into a languid kiss. She responds eagerly, running her tongue along his lower lip, begging for entrance. As their tongues tangle together, his hand finds her breast once more and their kiss is broken by a low moan that escapes her lips as he rolls her taut nipple between his fingers. He moves lower, trailing open-mouthed kisses along her neck and shoulder, making her squirm and push up against his lips.

“Always so eager,” he murmurs before taking one pert nipple between his lips. She gasps as he runs the flat of his tongue over the pebbled nub, rolling his tongue around it in slow, deliberate circles. When he rakes his teeth lightly over her nipple, she threads her fingers into his soft brown hair – and tugs. He growls at the sensation, sucking hard to draw a wanton moan from her lips.

“Tell me, vhenan,” he says, and she blinks slowly, licking her lips, “…what you want?”

She grins at him wickedly, “ _Sathan_ , vhenan, dava ‘ma edhas…”

He groans at her request, blood surging between his legs. She braces it against the mattress and he moves back, hands coming to her thighs, spreading them open as he lowers his head. He pauses for a moment, breathing in the heady scent of her arousal, before slowly dragging his tongue along her slit. She moans appreciatively, her fingers bunching the sheets, and her hips rising seeking more pressure. He parts her folds with his tongue, stopping just short of her sensitive nub. She groans in frustration, her palm trailing to the back of his head urging him forward. He chuckles against her heated sex, resisting her pull to her core. He trails his tongue around the hood of her sex, delighting in her frustrated moans and mewls.

“Sathan,” she whimpers, “ _please_ , vhenan!”

He hums approvingly, lifting his head to glance at her, and grins innocently.

“Mar rodhe ir'on,” he says, seductively. He descends upon her, lips drawing her clit in to suckle on it. She cries out, her hips bucking against his wicked tongue. He traces his tongue over her pearl, drawing languidly any shape that he can imagine, flicking his tongue every so often, as she becomes increasingly vocal in her pleasure. He knows she is close to release when her breath stutters audibly, and he draws her clit into his mouth once more. He caresses her opening with two fingers, teasing her with fleeting pressure. She shatters again with his name on her lips.

She slumps into the sheets again, her chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath. He pushes his lithe fingers into her velvet sheath. The contraction of her inner walls sends a shockwave of desire through him, making him groan quietly against her heat. The tremors of her orgasm still pulsing against his hand as he crooks his fingers inside her, pressing into the bundle of nerves that always–

Her eyes fly open as she cries out, breathless, her hands grasping at the sheets as her walls push against his fingers. He rocks his hand against her, withdrawing another moan from her lips. She throws her hand over her mouth to muffle the noise, but he reaches out to grasp it, pulling it away.

“Let me hear you, arasha. I want to hear you,” he pleads; the taste of her need, intoxicating. Her breathy moans mix with half-word mumblings as he brings her to release again, hardly letting her come down before beginning anew. Soon, she loses count of her orgasms. He brings her ever higher, until the only sounds she can make are keening moans, her legs trembling against his shoulders. Gently, he eases his fingers out of her and lifts his mouth to press a kiss to her inner thigh.

“Ir’ina’lan’ehn…,” he murmurs, rubbing calming circles against her skin with his thumb.

She reaches for his hand, her fingers curling around his, still slick with her release. She tugs and he follows, kneeling above her. Up close, he can see few stray tears glistening on her flushed cheeks and he bends down to kiss them away

“Ar lath ma,” she whispers, kissing him deeply and tasting herself against his lips. Her hand wraps around his steely length and his eyes fall shut as a breathless moan escaping his lips. He hears her groan quietly and opens his eyes to meet hers.

“Isalan ma gara suin em,” she breathes, and he tilts his hips against her hand involuntarily. She pumps his length, making his eyelids flutter as he groans deep and guttural with satisfaction. His gaze focuses on her mouth as she bites her lower lip, before a roguish grin graces her lips.

“Pala em,” she commands.

He growls and his hands fly to her hips, pulling her towards him. She uses her grip on him to guide him to her entrance, and in one swift motion, he buries his length within her. Tight, wet heat surrounds him; his eyes screw shut and brows knit together as he struggles to maintain some semblance of control.

“Take me, ma’sa’lath,” she says, low with desire. “Neran ihn bre'palas, i vallasan bredhas i'ma'da'vin.”

He is undone by the filthy words falling from her beautiful kiss-swollen lips. He pulls back slightly before hilting himself within her once more and she cries out. With a low growl, he grabs her hips roughly, knees resting on his forearms, pulling out until he is barely inside her. His eyes lock with hers and he enters her, slowly, pleasure thrumming as her eyes become unfocused and her eyelids flutter. He sets an erratic pace to their lovemaking, pushing deep into her with every thrust. Still sensitive from her multiple previous orgasms, it does not take long for her pleasure to peak once more. She comes with a long, loud moan and the vibrato of her release beckons him towards his own peak.

“Rosa’da’din in’em,” she pleads. Her eyes beam with desire as she looks at him and he cannot say no to her needful request. He quickens his pace, slamming into her as she cries out in ecstasy and soon he cannot hold back any longer. He grasps her hips roughly, holding her still as he rocks into her with a quickening pace. She throws back her head, eyes sliding closed as he takes her and the sight of her arching under him has him spilling into her with a moan.

Their heavy breaths mixing as their tongues dance together. He slides his hands up her sides, caressing her skin, and she breaks the kiss, pressing their foreheads together. They spend a long moment like this, looking into each other’s eyes as her hands caress his back.

He lies down next to her and pulls her into his arms, burying his nose in her hair and closing his eyes. She feels him press a kiss into her shoulder.

“Ar lath ma, ma’sa’lath,” he murmurs.

“Ar lath ma, Fen’Harel…,” she whispers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations pilfered from [Project Elvhen](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3553883/chapters/7826624)
> 
> On dhea – Good morning  
> Ma’sa’lath – My one love  
> Ma’isha – (Lit.) my man  
> Isalan hima sa i’na – I lust to become one with you  
> Lasa em tua rosas’da’din – Let me make you cum  
> Sathan, dava ‘ma edhas – Please, lick my pussy  
> Mar rodhe ir’on – You taste delicious (Lit. “your flavor very good”)  
> Arasha – My happiness  
> Ir’ina’lan’ehn – gorgeous, very beautiful  
> Ar lath ma – I love you  
> Isalan ma gara suin em – I lust for you to come into me  
> Pala em – Fuck me  
> Neran ihn bre’palas, i vallasan bredhas i’ma’da’vin – I like it when you fuck me deep and paint my insides with your cum.  
> Rosa’da’din in’em – Cum inside me  
> Ma’sal’shiral – My life. Essentially, ‘Love of my life’ or ‘You are my soul’s journey’  
> Word Count: 1,863


	6. The Herald

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our heroes fight rogue Mages & Templars, meet Mother Giselle, get Dennet's stable, and don't die. Our heroine shares some of her past with Solas. Solas has some feelings and then acts like Solas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated for grammatical errors & minor plot details.
> 
> As always, questions, comments, suggestions, & kudos are welcomed and appreciated. Thanks for reading!

She opened her eyes half-expecting to be face-to-face with a demon. Instead, she was staring at a wooden ceiling laying in a comfortable bed. She sat up tossing her legs over the edge of the bed and rubbed her throbbing head. She heard a small gasp and the clatter of equipment falling to the ground. She glances up to see a young elven woman looking at her fearfully.

“Oh! I didn’t know you were awake, I swear!”

“Don’t worry about it. I only–,” Tasha began,

“I beg your forgiveness and your blessing. I am but a humble servant,” the woman says, falling to her knees. “You’re back in Haven, my lady. They say you saved us. The breach stopped growing, just like the mark on your hand. It’s all anyone has talked about for the last three days!”

“Three days?” Tasha stammered in disbelief.

“I’m sure Lady Cassandra will want to know you’ve waken. She said ‘At once!’”

“And where is she?”

“In the Chantry with the Lord Chancellor. ‘At once’ she said!” with that, the elven woman ran out the door.

Tasha sat on the edge of the bed shaking her head and smiling. _I hope that the others are safe._ She thought about the charming dwarf, Varric – he seemed like a ton of fun. Cassandra seemed a bit uptight but she may turn out to be reasonable. Moreover, the elf, Solas, seemed… pretentious. Her mother had once explained that some elves think highly of themselves, especially some Dalish clans. While Solas did not appear to be Dalish, he did seem to think rather highly of himself. Rising from the bed, Tasha made her way to the door of the cabin. She swung open the door and froze:

There had to be at least fifty people, soldiers and citizens alike, standing outside, saluting her. She carefully walked along the pass leading to the Chantry. She passed by several citizens whispering about a ‘Herald of Andraste’ and another wished her good luck sealing the rifts. She had to fight the urge to smear her hand down her face at the entire situation. _What have I gotten myself into?_ Opening the heavy oaken doors of the Chantry, she steps inside making her way towards the sound of an intense argument.

“Have you gone completely mad? She should be taken to Val Royeaux immediately, to be tried by whomever becomes Divine,” a voice that sounded like the Chancellor.

“I do not believe she is guilty.” Cassandra retorted in her usual uniform tone.

“The prisoner failed, Seeker. The Breach is still in the sky. For all you know, she intended it this way.”

“I do not believe that.” Cassandra responded.

“That is not for you to decide. Your duty is to the serve the Chantry,” Roderick spit.

“My duty is to serve the principles on which the Chantry was founded, Chancellor. As is yours.”

She almost felt guilty interrupting the exchange. As her fate was the topic of discussion, she did feel the need to defend herself. Pushing open the door at the far end of the Chantry, she passed two soldiers standing guard at the door while Chancellor Roderick, Lady Cassandra, and Sister Leliana stood around a large table, arguing.

“Chain her! I want her prepared for travel to the capital for trial,” Roderick barked at the guards, who began to move towards Tasha.

“Disregard that and leave us,” Cassandra stated to the guards.

The guards saluted and turned to leave, closing the door behind them.

“You walk a dangerous line, Seeker…,” Roderick hissed, narrowing his eyes at the Seeker.

“The Breach is stable, but it is still a threat. I will not ignore it,” Cassandra stated firmly.

“I did everything I could to close the Breach. It almost killed me,” Tasha added.

“And yet you live. A convenient result, insofar as you’re concerned.” The Chancellor countered harshly.

“Have a care, Chancellor. The Breach is not the only threat we face,” Cassandra hissed at his heartless words. Tasha decided she did not care at all for this disrespectful man.

Leliana stepped forward. “Someone was behind the explosion at the Conclave. Someone Most Holy did not expect. Perhaps they died with the others – or have allies who yet live,” eyeing the Chancellor suspiciously.

“ ** _I_** am a suspect?” the Chancellor seemed surprised. 

“You and many others.” Leliana indicated.

“But not the prisoner,” Roderick countered tersely.

“I heard the voices in the temple. The Divine called to her for help.” Cassandra stated, recalling their shared vision at the Breach.

“So her survival, that thing on her hand – all a coincidence?” Roderick stumbled out incredulously.

“Providence. The Maker sent her to us in our darkest hour.”

Tasha was suddenly very appreciative of Emil’s lessons on the Chantry and spoke, “‘Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide.’”

“We lost everything… then, out of nowhere, you came…,” she said, awestruck.

“The Breach remains and your mark is our only hope of closing it.” Leliana stated, bringing Tasha’s attention back to the current task.

“This is not for you to decide!” The Chancellor howled defiantly.

Cassandra slammed a heavy, leather-bound book down on the table. “You know what this is, Chancellor?” she spat, pointing at the manuscript in emphasis. “A writ from the Divine, granting us authority to act. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn.” The Lady Seeker strode aggressively towards Roderick, “We will close the Breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order with or _without_ your approval,” emphasizing each point by poking him in the chest.

Roderick glanced at Tasha, shaking his head before leaving in a huff.

“This is the Divine’s directive: Rebuild the Inquisition of old. Find those who will stand against the chaos. We aren’t ready. We have no leader, no numbers, and now no Chantry support.” Leliana stated bluntly.

“But we have no choice: We must act now. With you at our side.” Cassandra said with a small smile.

“If you’re truly trying to restore order…,” Tasha mumbled hesitantly.

“That is the plan.” Leliana stated decisively.

“Help us fix this before it’s too late.” Cassandra said, extending her hand to Tasha.

Tasha smiled, grasping the Seeker’s hand firmly, before shaking it firmly.

~~~~~~~~~~

The past few days had been a whirlwind of activity. She had seen the flurry of activity from everyone she had met thus far. In addition to Leliana and Cassandra, she was introduced to Josephine Montilyet, an Antivan ambassador for the fledging Inquisition and Cullen Rutherford, the former Knight-Commander of Kirkwall and the current Commander of the Inquisition’s growing forces, whom she thought was rather… handsome. _That scar though…_

The Commander leaned over the war table, pointing to a region on the map. “This area is the Hinterlands. We can set up operations all throughout the area; it is strategically perfect. However,” his eyes moved to meet hers, “this area is in the heart of the mage and Templar conflict. You’ll likely have conflicts with them.”

She crossed her arms, “Conflicts, Commander?”

He was a bit surprised by her severe tone, having never heard her speak with anything but a melodic quality, “Y-Yes, Herald. I am dispatching troops to assist you with fulfilling requisitions and setting up command posts.”

“Thank you. I was wondering about that. I know I’m good, Commander, but I’m not  _that_  good,” she said with a coy smile.

The smile he gave was nervous and he stammered, “R–right then,”  _Maker’s Breath_ , _what was I saying?_ “So the Hinterlands are… oh wait, I already said that." He rubbed the bridge of his nose, “Forgive me, my lady. The main objective–,” he cleared his throat, trying to recover while feeling the flush of embarrassment creep across his face. “…is reaching out to the Master Dennet there. Talk to him; see if we can gain his stables. His mounts could assist the Inquisition _immeasurably._ ”

 _He is not used to being teased._  Tasha smiled as she watched him fumble for words –  _This could be fun._

Cullen’s own thoughts were much more cynical than those of the woman across from him were –  _What a lasting first impression you’ve made, you idiot. The Commander of all the Inquisition’s forces reduced to babbling at the first official war council._

“There are also rifts scattered across the area,” Cullen pointed to more locations in the Hinterlands and added, “If you can seal those, we could greatly reduce the number of casualties in those area.”

“Not to mention, the reputation you would gain could bring others to join our cause,” Josephine interjected. “The more respect and influence you garner, the better chance we have at gaining superior allies.”

When Josephine finished, Leliana added, “Mother Giselle requested to speak with you. She is assisting the refugees at the Crossroads.”

Tasha nodded her agreement, masking her nervousness with humor, “Scout Hinterlands, find Mother Giselle, close rifts, get Dennet, and don’t die.” She smirked, “Does that cover everything, Commander?”

Cullen’s face snapped up to search hers, trying to determine if she was teasing again. Her wry smile gave her away and he relaxed before responding, “That is…– yes.”

“I will go with you,” Cassandra offered, stepping forward to stand beside Tasha. The elf nodded appreciatively as the Seeker took over, “We should depart as soon as possible.”

“We can have everything ready for you to leave in the morning,” Josephine said nodding politely. “I shall attend to those preparations now, if you’ll excuse me.” She slipped past the others and stepped out to her office, scribbling notes of alliances and amenities on the board she always carried.

“Leliana, a word?” Tasha interjected. Pulling Leliana aside, she asked the Spymaster to send a missive to her clan, and specifically to a man named Aedan, informing them of her survival and status. Leliana quirked an eyebrow but agreed with a small smile, ensuring her it would be done.

~~~~~~~~~~

Three days had passed since Tasha she had been introduced to the Inquisition’s advisors— _her_  advisors. This was the first official war council they had and she could not help but smile at the way destiny wove its tapestry. Her father had done his best to prepare her for her burdens that came along with being a vessel for Hope. _Whatever that meant…_ She had spent the better part of her twenty-six years living for others and while she did not resent her role in the tapestry of Fate, she secretly longed for a life that was her own, to command as such.

“What’s this I hear about a trip to the Hinterlands?” asked a familiar voice from behind her.

Tasha spun around in surprise, “Varric!”

“I mean, you wouldn’t think about  _leaving_  me here, would you?” a sly grin on his face.

“I’m not sure if Cassandra would be able to stand it if you did,” she said with a chuckle.

“All the more reason for me to go,” he insisted.

“Of course, Varric, we could really use your help.”

He walked with her to her quarters in companionable silence, lost in thought. However before they reached the tavern, he spoke again, “So… now that Cassandra isn’t within earshot: how are you holding up, kid? I mean, you survived a massive explosion, stepped out of the Fade, nearly died sealing a giant rift, and you’re now being called the Herald of Andraste… most people would have tried to spread that out for over more than one day.”

“To tell you the truth… sometimes it doesn’t feel  _real._  As if this is all a dream and we’re all going to wake up tomorrow and have a good laugh about it.” She smiled weakly, “They call me Herald and I look around waiting for someone important to answer – only to realize it ME. It just… everything seems so sudden.”

He nodded understandingly, “I know what you mean—it  _does_  feel like a dream, doesn’t it? If this is just the Maker riling us up, there had better be a damn good punch line.” Varric gave her a reassuring smile, “I just wanted to say I’ve got your back, kid. You’ve got some big shoes to fill, in a manner of speaking.” He gently patted her arm before walking ahead.

Tasha blinked away the tears threatening to spill onto her flushed cheeks. _It will not do for Haven to see their new Herald crying—over nothing._  Her thoughts took on a sober tone as she determined.  _They cannot see me falter._ Taking Varric’s words to heart, she tilted her chin up in _defiance_ — to the Breach, to the Templar and mage war, to the world, and to _fate._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word Count: 1,499


	7. The Hinterlands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our heroes travel to the Hinterlands, talk to Mother Giselle, get Dennet's stable, and don't die. 
> 
> Solas tries to figure out the Herald and why she is so familiar...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone's favorite place to spend 10+ levels! Am I right? 
> 
> Also, whats the deal with Cassandra and bears?

Cullen watched them leave with no small amount of unease. After all, Cassandra was entrusting the future of the entire Inquisition to someone she had adamantly labeled as a murderer and a traitor, not even a week prior. He gripped the wooden ramparts, leaning against them, squinting against the brightness of the dawning sun. Even in the early hours of morning, Haven bustled with activity. Recruits flooded the camp with this and that, demanding his attention.  _Maker preserve me…_

~~~~~~~~~~

Tasha breathed in the fresh scent of Hinterland air, reveling in how the breeze tossed her hair and cooled her skin. They had set up camp and she was eager for the rest of the journey to be underway. Scout Harding informed her that the Crossroads was less than a mile from their current location and they had discovered several promising locations to establish satellite campsites. Tasha felt hopeful.

Varric ambled up beside her as Scout Harding briefed her about the current state of the Hinterlands, interrupting them after a small pause and handing her a small, heavy bundle, nearly dropping it after feeling its weight.

“What _is_ this?”

“Your new best friends,” he winked and strolled off, whistling to himself.

Tasha unwrapped the bundle, her eyes widening to discover a sturdy leather armor ensemble. She wondered, for a brief moment how the dwarf had acquired such fine armor. Resisting the urge to ask questions, she chose to take his advice and put it on.

The deep green vest was sturdy, but surprisingly comfortable and form fitting. After lacing the front of the tunic, she pulled on the awkwardly long boots. She marveled at how tall they were, reaching up to her thighs and she could not help but feel a little self-conscious about them. She was, however, grateful for how comfortable they were on her feet. Last were her gloves– proper archer’s gloves– she observed with a smile. Fitting her hand like a gauntlet, they extended the full length of her forearms and flared to cover her elbows, but not encase them, for flexibility. _I wonder if I can cast in these?_ Admiring herself, she admitted that she looked quite formidable, if not a bit woodsy. It pleased her and she flashed a smile at the dwarf observing her from across the camp. His thumbs up of approval only widened her smile.

At that moment, Cassandra approached, appraising the elf silently. Tasha turned to greet her and the Seeker nodded in approval, “The armor suits you. The Commander chose well.”

“The Commander?” she questioned.

“We tend to defer to his opinions in the matters of arms and armor, for good reason,” explained the tall woman.

Thoughtfully, the elf nodded, suspicion rising at the unrequited gesture, “Then I suppose I shall have to thank him when we return.”

“Herald?” Scout Harding’s voice beckoned her back to reality, “In regards to Master Dennet…,”

 _Ah,_   _no rest for the wicked, I suppose…_

~~~~~~~~~~

Spells of every kind flew around her in a frenzy of shouts and curses. The ground shook, sending her tumbling backwards down the small hillock on which she had stationed herself. Where she  _had_  been a spire of ice now stood and Tasha shuddered knowing how close to death she had come, once again. Scampering around the hill, she grasped her bow and shot another arrow at the apostate attacking her. Mere survival was not an option at this point –  _Victory_ , complete and utter triumph, would be the only way to stop the half-crazed mages and Templars. _What is wrong with these people?!_

Varric stood to her left and Bianca’s bolts whizzed through the air as fast as his deft fingers could load them. Solas covered his position with an adept spell of warding from a safe distance. Tasha’s own ward shattered by a spell that exploded before her – Her ears were  _still_  ringing from the blast. Deftly dodging another jolt of chain lightning, she set aside her bow and drew her daggers, enchanting them with spirit energy. The mages’ wards were deflecting her arrows as if the shafts were made of straw. Steeling her resolve, she  _ran_ – darting between trees and rocks, circumventing the enemy lines, and then swift as a jungle cat, she  _struck._

The apostate barely had time to turn around before Tasha’s daggers hit their mark. He crumpled to the ground, mid-cast. Her nimble feet carried her through the shadows to her next target. Slashing his side, she struck a solid blow. Unfortunately, the mage noticed and spun his staff to strike her. She managed to dodge the bulk of the impact but the tip of the mage’s staff grazed her leg and she tumbled forward. The furious apostate unleashed a fire spell and she barely managed to roll away before it made contact.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see another figure barreling towards them –  _Cassandra. I need to hold him here just a bit longer._  The enraged apostate cast spell after spell at the elf as she sidestepped each of his attacks, just long enough for Cassandra to tear through the forest and run him through with her longsword. The man let out a sickening gurgle as the light in his eyes faded and he crumpled to the ground.

Panting, the Seeker held out her hand and helped Tasha to her feet, “The roads should be much safer now with the Mage threat eliminated. The entire base is cleared out.” Tasha brushed the brambles from her clothes and nodded her thanks to Cassandra as Varric and Solas joined them from their previous positions.

Solas reached out to her gently grasping her wrist in his thin hands, “You’re bleeding. May I?” he asked. Without waiting for her approval, his hand glimmered with cool healing energy as he hovered it over her wounds. The cool touch of his magic washed over her and she felt a new respect flare for her companion’s skills.

“Thank you, Solas,” her eyes betraying what her voice could not.

“Of course,” he nodded in understanding.

A deep blush fanned across her cheeks as he held her hand for a moment longer than necessary. He simply gazed at her with that same unreadable expression.

Catching her breath, Tasha took a moment to evaluate her surroundings – and what she saw was sickening. Bloodied bodies littered the ground and spires of ice scattered the clearing along with several patches of burnt turf where spells abruptly ended, their casters meeting a grisly end. She had to hold back feeling of bile rising in her throat at the sight of the battleground. Some apostates died with snarls of defiance frozen on their faces and she found she could not look at their empty, lifeless eyes. 

“You okay, kid?” Varric murmured, keeping his voice low striving not to attract attention from their companions.

She shook her head, “I–I’m not sure…,” trying to smile, but achieving more of a grimace.

The dwarf knew better than to prod – instead, flashing her a reassuring smile and patting her arm before moving to help the others collect any valuables. Tasha’s feelings were tumultuous as she turned to help her comrades, the sky forming a dark overcast mirroring her inner turmoil.  _We can do better than this. We can give them more…_

~~~~~~~~~~

Solas took the opportunity to be close to her with reserved delight. He wanted to explore her energy, preferably with her unawares. He was drawn to her as a moth is drawn to a flame. Her spirit was so bright and so familiar. She was a skilled archer but with her connection to the Fade, she could easily be an excellent mage with the proper training.

_Who is this woman and why is she so familiar?_

~~~~~~~~~~

“There are mages here who can heal your wounds,” she said softly, her dark features gentle with a reassuring smile. “Lay still.”

“Don’t let them touch me, Mother,” the solider said stubbornly even as his voice lilted in pain. “Their magic is–,”

“Turned to noble purpose,” the woman said firmly, voice filled with quiet compassion. “Their magic is surely no more evil than your blade.” The man made to protest but the Cleric shut him down with a stern look. “Hush, dear boy. Allow them to ease your suffering.” The soldier leaned back against his cot, giving in with a pained grunt.

“Mother Giselle?” Tasha asked tentatively as she approached.

“I am,” the Cleric said rising and turning to face the elf. “And you must be the one they are calling _The Herald of Andraste_ ,” she emphasized the title as if making them a proclamation.

“Is that why you asked for me?” Tasha asked with a weary sigh, not really wanting to hear another lecture on her unworthiness. Chancellor Roderick had that quite covered. “The Chantry has already–,”

“I know what they’ve done,” Mother Giselle said quickly, stilling Tasha with a raised hand.

“Then why am I here?” the elf asked, confused.

“I know of the Chantry’s denouncement. And I am familiar with those behind it,” the cleric said knowingly. “I won’t lie to you. Some are grandstanding, hoping to increase their chances of becoming the new Divine – Others are simply terrified.” She let out a heavy breath, shaking her head in disbelieving sorrow. “So many good people senselessly taken from us.”

“It was horrible,” Tasha agreed sadly. They gazed up at the broken sky together. “There is no justification good enough for what happened at the Conclave. I only hope we can end this before more people are killed.”

“Fear makes us desperate, but hopefully not beyond reason,” the cleric said turning to the Herald. “Go to them. Convince the remaining clerics you are no demon to be feared. They’ve heard only frightful tales of you. Give them something else to believe.”

“You want me to appeal to them?” she replied, studying the Mother’s face thoughtfully.

“If I thought you were incapable, I would not suggest it,” Mother Giselle said lightly, her clasps within her bellowing sleeves. A warm intelligent smile graced her lips as her eyes sparkling.

“Will they even listen?” Tasha asked skeptically, “To _me_?”

“Let me put it this way–,” Mother Giselle continued, “–you needn’t  _convince_  them. You just need some of them to  _doubt._ Their power is their unified voice. Take that from them and you’ll receive the time you need.”

Tasha nodded slowly as she pondered the older woman’s words – she could see what the Mother was insinuating. _It might just work. At least in part._

“It is good of you to do this,” Tasha said graciously, hands falling to her sides once more before bowing slightly.

“I honestly don’t know if you’ve been touched by fate or sent to help us,” the woman said frankly, “but… I hope. Hope is what we need now. The people with listen to your rallying call, as they will listen to no other. You could build the Inquisition into a force that will deliver us. Or destroy us.” The warning in her words was unmistakable. Here was a woman at a cross roads of faith and she had just handed a Dalish elf the key to make or break this world. _That is a massive amount of trust to place with someone you do not know…,_ thought Tasha – but it was trust she hoped to be worthy of.

 

“I will go to Haven and provide Sister Leliana with the names of those in the Chantry who would be amenable to a gathering,” Mother Giselle continued. “It is not much but I will do whatever I can.

 

“The Inquisition thanks you,” Tasha said before excusing herself with another small bow.

~~~~~~~~~~

The sun was slipping below the horizon when Tasha and her companions returned to their recently established camp near Redcliffe farm. A flag bearing the symbol of the Inquisition waved above the valley – a sword and eye with rays of light surrounding. As they entered Master Dennet’s house, he greeted them gruffly.

“We’ve done as you requested, Master Dennet,” she pointed to the map. “We will have our soldiers here within a few days to erect these towers. And the wolves have been dealt with; your lands, at least for the time being, are safe.”

The man’s eyes softened and his words of thanks were genuine. “You have my entire stables, then, my lady. They’ll be sent to Haven immediately.”

“You would send your best horses…,” she began, “but what of yourself?”

“I wouldn’t feel right about leaving Redcliffe to be Horsemaster elsewhere,” he mumbled, not entirely a lie.

Cassandra spoke up, pleading their case, “You are Andrastian, are you not? Would you not give the Maker your best?”

Dennet considered her words, “I… _do_  serve the Maker…,” he sighed. “I could not live with myself if I turned this down… Very well – Never let it be said that Redcliffe gave less than the best. You have my entire stable and you have me.”

With business concluded, the group departed eager to curl into their bedrolls at camp for a well-deserved rest. It had been a long, tiresome day and their journey had only just begun; tomorrow they would be scouting the Templar encampment that had been harassing travelers as well as closing rifts.

Tasha wished her companions goodnight and watched them enter their respective tents. It had been a taxing day. She pinched the bridge of her nose feeling her head throb with a headache she had been trying to ignore for most of the day. She sidestepped her own tent, electing to slip into the woods, the night enveloping her in a familiar blanket of darkness. She hoisted herself into the ancient branches of an oak tree; curling into the crook of a branch with a sigh of relief, one leg stretched across the length of the bough and the other swinging lazily aside.

The moon above her shown full and bright, blissfully ignorant to the anguish occurring below. Brilliant stars twinkling in chorus accenting the moon’s elegance with a delicate beauty all their own. Tasha breathed in the crisp night air feeling her senses clear– there was something about the woods. Perhaps it was the smell of the earth, the feel of grass beneath her bare feet, or the subtle sounds of the forest… whatever it was, Tasha knew she always had a sanctuary beneath the boughs of the trees.

~~~~~~~~~~

Solas watched as she slipped into the ancient woods. He had stolen glances of her for most of the day when she was otherwise occupied with her mission, _their_ mission. He entertained the thought of following her, tempted as he was, he did not want to risk unnecessary attachment to this fascinating creature. Her innocence, energy, and inner strength beckoned to a deeper part of him he had long thought hidden. He was unsure how welcome this development would become. As he watched her disappear into the night, he worried for a moment, for her well-being, of course. For the woods are home to many strange and fearsome creatures, some hiding closer than expected.

~~~~~~~~~~

Cullen left his office feeling the weight of the taxing day weigh heavily upon his broad shoulders. Eager new recruits and agents flooded in from various parts of the Hinterlands; thanks in no small part to the Herald. While it was a credit to the Inquisition, the day had been one situation after another. Already the mages and Templars amongst their ranks were at each other’s throats, blaming the other for the death of the Divine. The situation was tense and uncomfortable all around. He was not sure how much longer he could keep the groups quelled.

Leaning against the wooden gate of the city, he allowed himself a sigh of relief as he gazed at the full moon. At that moment, he realized how long it had been since he had taken the time to do such a thing. He worked himself ragged most days, feeling almost guilty for taking time for himself away from the reports, the planning, and the training. He knew each soldiers’ name by heart and he was in the process of memorizing their families, if not by name then at least by sight. They  _mattered_  to him and while it was extremely exhausting, it was as equally rewarding.

They respected and looked up to him. Void take him before he would let them down.

He closed his eyes, allowing the soft breeze caress his face and tousle his meticulously groomed hair. For a moment, his thoughts wandered to those in the Hinterlands and he wondered how they were faring. Judging by the influx of refugees and agents, he assumed that the mission was going well. Visions of the Herald’s bright violet eyes flashed in his mind, unbidden but not unwelcomed. He recalled her fluid movements in the heat of battle and her melodic voice at the War Table. It baffled him: her desire to help the Inquisition. They had taken her prisoner, sent her into the heat of battle, and forced her to use a power of which she possessed no knowledge, or so he assumed. Yet, when it came down to it, she had stepped up where others would have fled. She bore the responsibility of many and he could sense a heart that cared more than it wanted to share behind her wry smile, crystalline eyes, and sharp tongue.

~~~~~~~~~~

“It’s so nice to not have to _walk_ back to Haven,” Varric commented, patting his mount on its muscular neck.

Tasha had her mount running circles around the group, reveling in the feel of fresh air on her face. The winds tousled her hair and she laughed, turning into the gust allowing it blow her hair behind her ears. She felt  _free_ , her long hair flowing and her arms outstretched. Her bright eyes sought out the other elf in their company, spying him walking alone farther ahead of the group.

“Solas!” she called to him with a smile.

Her voice called him from his deep thoughts and his smile was distant as he responded, “Ar lasa mala revas.” _You are free…_

“Perhaps you are right – But why do you say so?” she smiled thoughtfully.

“You are most yourself at times such as these,” he observed thoughtfully. “While you can hold your own in a battle and command a strong presence, your heart is at peace among the woods, meadows, and streams.”

“That is very true…,” she smiled shaking her head, her spun-gold curls settling over one shoulder. For the briefest of moments, their eyes met. Her violet eyes were unusual, he supposed. The last time he had seen eyes that pale shade of lavender was among the last of the Dreamers. The acknowledgement that he had seen those eyes before disturbed his usually placid exterior, more so because of whom those eyes had belonged. The realization flustered him as he spoke.     

“I–I wish to apologize for my earlier… discourteousness, lethallan. May we… try again?” he croaked, willing his composed mask into place as he spoke.

“If you’d like. What would you know, Hahren?” she smiled. _Oh, that smile…_

“You said your clan was destroyed by Darkspawn. How is it that you survived?” he asked pointedly.

She was taken aback by the forwardness of his question but she indulged his curiosity, refusing to allow his grumpy attitude steal her sunshine, literally and figuratively.

“I was very young so I do not remember much but it is my understanding that my clan was wiped out by a hoard of Darkspawn. I can remember a dark-haired woman with faint green tree branches on her face, who I assume was my mother, running with me. I remember being alone and wandering in the wilderness searching for her. I remember standing at the foot of a statue and a voice promising to send help, although I am not sure if it’s more memory or the imagination of a frightened little girl,” she supposed, suddenly feeling childish. “Clan Lavellan was kind enough to take me in, instead of sending me to Kirkwall. Since they’re the only family I’ve ever known, so I suppose I have not missed out on much.”

“I see…,” he responded, sinking back into his thoughts.

“You are unlike any of the Dalish I’ve come across. Does your clan no longer practice the disgraceful act of blood writing?” his tone bitter and resentful.

“I am… an _exception_ ,” Tasha responded quietly. “I was not _permitted_ to receive my vallaslin when I came of age,” she retorted coldly, growing uncomfortable at his thoughtless words. “May we speak of something else? This is an uncomfortable subject for me…”

He nodded silently. _Perhaps I should not have asked…_

“Tell me of yourself, Solas. We have traveled together for several days now and I still know very little of you,” she said, her smile returning.

“To what purpose?” his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“I read Leliana’s report on you: an elven apostate in the middle of a rebellion, voluntarily supporting the Inquisition. I must admit, I have observed you, not only recently but also at the Rift. You appear to be quite knowledgeable,” her eyes met his, “and I respect you.”

“I apologize for my suspicions, lethallan,” his hard expression melting. They spoke cordially for some time; Solas had many interesting ideas and theories regarding the Fade and spirits. Tasha found herself fascinated by his breadth of knowledge and he was just as captivated by her genuine curiosity.  The way her eyes lit up when she achieved understanding, the exhilaration in her smile, he hoped she never lost that part of her; that inquisitiveness and thirst for knowledge that made her even more endearing. The sun itself seemed to shine brighter when she was smiling. _A pity she is not a mage– She would be quite proficient,_  he found himself thinking again, while answering yet another question.

Eventually, Cassandra approached them directing a question to Solas, which he answered politely. He felt their discussion had concluded far too prematurely. He wanted to know everything about this woman – anything he could get close enough to learn.

Appreciating the interruption, Tasha spurred her mount forward, distancing herself from the bustling caravan and the irritable elf. Granted they were of the same blood, however they did not seem to be of like mind. He seemed to hate her for his own unknown reasons. _How could someone hold such resentment toward their kin? Maybe it was something **I** did? *Sigh*_ Galloping past the forward scouts, Tasha gave her spirit over to the sensation of the open air and the precious moments of solitude before their arrival at Haven.

Next to Cassandra, Solas continued respectfully answering the Seeker’s multitude of questions. However, his attention remained focused sharply at the small elf riding the spirited Forder away from the caravan. He admired the curve of her back, the roll of her hips with every stride, and the strength in her thighs as she maneuvered her mount skillfully through the newly fallen snow. The heavy winter furs did nothing to diminish the sheer power her lithe form emanated. He considered the mark she carried – his mark – should be unbearably overwhelming, yet she bore it with refinement and grace, seeming to mold it into her strengths.

It was a distraction he had not expected – _She_ was not what he expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word Count: 2,580


	8. The Greeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Returning from the Hinterlands, our heroine reveals her secret to Solas, Solas has feelings, our heroine flirts with her Commander, the Commander gets embarrassed and she gets embarrassed, and plans are made to speak to the Chantry in Val Royeaux.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update. I wasn't happy with the last few chapters and after reading & re-reading them I decided to change a few things to help guide the story back in the direction I've envisioned.
> 
> As always, comments, questions, suggestions, and kudos are appreciated. Thanks for reading.

Cullen paced impatiently around his office. According to Leliana, a large convoy approached Haven and they expected its arrival within the hour. However, it was nearing dusk and the hour had long passed.

 _Maker’s breath,_   _why do I feel so anxious?_  

Attributing it to insomnia, he turned over his report to one of Leliana’s agents and strode towards the gates hoping to catch a glimpse of the coming convoy.

Climbing the stairs to look over the fortifications surrounding Haven, his eyes wandered to the horizon. He squinted in the fading evening light and tried to identify the person cresting the horizon. His breath caught in his throat as realization washed over him–

Tasha, The Blessed Herald of Andraste herself, rode atop a Fereldan Forder  _racing_  back to Haven. From where he stood on the ramparts, he could see every lovely detail. Her long blonde hair flowed behind her and exhilaration added a becoming blush to her pale cheeks. He watched as she leaned forward and let go of the reins, spreading her arms out as if to embrace the wind itself. Cullen felt his heart somersault when he saw her smile– wild, impassioned, and as free as the wind and sky itself.

He was smitten.

~~~~~~~~~~

 _WEEEEEEEEE! I can fly!_ She stretched her arms out to the wind as she rode towards Haven.  _I’m riding the wind!_

She reined her horse in to a trot, slowing as she neared the gates. She had missed the small hamlet and its people.  _I’ve never had a place to miss before,_  she realized. 

Then she saw him –  _I would recognize that armor anywhere,_  she mused. It brought a smile to her face to see someone she recognized among the gathering onlookers, someone who seemed happy to see her. She raised her hand, enthusiastically waving it in greeting. The man flushed, rubbing the back of his neck and she giggled – _Oh dear, I’ve embarrassed the man…_

Cullen felt the heat rising in his cheeks after being caught blatantly staring.  _Not only do you look like a babbling fool but also a drooling lecher, a great pervy lout…_  He cursed himself, striding down the ramparts to greet the returning group. 

 _Maker’s breath, act normal!_  

By the time he reached the bottom of the stairs, the flush on his face had dissipated slightly. He caught sight of the rest of the group coming over the ridge and he felt no small amount of surprise. Glancing from the Herald to the throngs of followers, he could scarcely believe the fortuitous outcome.

He moved forward to greet Tasha as she was dismounting and offered his assistance. The expression she gave was one of surprise but she allowed him to help her off the horse. The moment she was down, he quickly dropped his hand and cleared his throat.

“My lady, by the looks of it you’ve had a successful first mission.” He smiled lopsidedly, “I hate to be the harbinger of bad news but Josephine and Leliana are awaiting your presence in the war room."

She raised a brow and greeted him wryly, “Thank you, Commander. Yes, our trip was lovely. I’m glad to be back, too, Commander.”

He flushed again, realizing his poor manners. The Commander stammered quickly, “Maker’s Breath, I’m sorry: welcome back, Herald. I didn’t mean to–,”

Her full laugh halted his attempt to correct his faux pas. “Do not mind me, Commander. I’ll head to the war room as Mithra is seen to,” she replied, patting the horse’s muscular neck. With that, she sidled past him, heading towards the stables.

He watched her saunter away, completely chagrined. He groaned,  _Maker, but I am an idiot…_ Rubbing his gloved hand down his face in frustration. He turned to the group of loitering recruits, all of which had witnessed his humiliating exchange with the Herald. Cullen began barking orders and sent them to assist those who would soon be entering the city. He sent other recruits to ensure that acceptable rooms were available and ready. 

 _Give me soldiers and swords, but – Maker preserve me –_ ** _not_**   _beautiful women. You did the same thing with Surana…_ Lost in his thoughts, he trudged to the Chantry where Leliana and Josephine were waiting.

~~~~~~~~~~

Tasha brushed Mithra’s deep chestnut coat, removing the travel dust and brambles. She knew she could have passed him off to a stable hand but she was hardly ready to face the war council – Not just yet. Leaning against the handsome mare, she closed her eyes and just  _breathed._  It was good to be back. Even if she was still a suspect to some and to others a long-awaited sign from the Maker, at least for that moment she could just  _be._

She had not had a moment to herself since she stepped out of the Fade. While she was used to not being alone while with her clan, at least she seemed appreciated by those here. Frustration tinged her emotions as she struggled to remember the events of the Conclave.  _Everything is gone–_ she thought pounding her fist on the stable railing.  _Why can I not remember?_  Her shoulders slumped and she released a jagged breath. 

A few moments later, she heard a commotion at the gates as the horses and wagons arrived. She heaved a great sigh: It was time to face her advisors. She bid the Forder goodbye before slipping gracefully from the stables.

Josephine, Leliana, and Cullen were already waiting for her when she entered the war room, all three of them gathered around the table and discussing– bickering, actually– some important matters.

“Ah, my lady Herald, you’ve arrived just in time,” Josephine greeted.

“And welcome back,” Leliana added with a secret smile and once again Cullen’s face felt flushed.

The embarrassed Commander cleared his throat, making a mental note to find another nervous habit, at least for in front of the Herald. “We’re discussing how to approach Val Royeaux.”

Tasha nodded, “I trust Mother Giselle made it safely?”

"Yes, my Lady,” Josephine said, “and she suggested that we meet with her contacts in the Chantry to appeal to them. Having the Herald address the clerics is not a terrible idea.”

“You cannot be serious,” Cullen shrilled.

“The Chantry mothers in Val Royeaux are convinced that the Inquisition is heretical and are denouncing it– as well as _you_ – specifically. But Mother Giselle isn’t wrong: At the moment, the Chantry’s only strength is that they are united in opinion.” Josephine continued.

Cullen sighed, “And I disagree." His eyes darkened dangerously as he elaborated, “We would be sending the Herald straight into a viper’s nest. With the Chantry openly denouncing the Inquisition and _her_  specifically, it would be folly to expose her to their public outrage,” he insisted, hammering a gloved fist on the table for emphasis. “Should we ignore the danger to the Herald?”

Tasha’s eyes widened at his passionate argument.

“But as the _Herald of Andraste_ , she could provide the nobles of the Capital with a public figure who stands for the Inquisition. It is her presence that shall rally them." Josephine countered.

“She’ll be walking straight into a trap–,”

“You cannot know that for sure,”

“As a strategist  _and_  a soldier, I _do_  know it’s extremely likely—,”

Tasha cleared her throat loudly, “While I understand the argument for a public appearance Josephine, I must agree with the Commander on this – it may be a trap.”

The man relaxed visibly at her words.

“However…,” she continued, “I cannot, in good conscience, send someone else to negotiate in my stead if it indeed _is_  a trap.”

Cullen’s brows furrowed, “My lady, there may be other options.”

Her eyes met his and she smiled apologetically, “Name one.”

Another moment passed before he confessed, unable to meet her gaze, “I cannot.” A long sigh escaped his lips and he shook his head in defeat.

Tasha crossed her arms, her shoulders hunched forward; she looked as vulnerable as she felt when she admitted, “I’m not thrilled about this either, Cullen, but what other choice do I have?”

The man’s eyes snapped up when she said his name. It was the first time he had ever heard her say it and the gentle lilt in her voice surprised him. He straightened, moving a hand to his sword’s pommel to distract his hands from risking another betraying sign of his discomfort, the Commander conceded, “As you wish, my Lady.”

“I will go with her. Mother Giselle said she could provide us names – Use them,” Cassandra interjected.

Josephine smiled fully, “Excellent: I shall send word immediately to Val Royeaux,” and, with that, she was out of the door and gone before anyone could protest.

Cullen excused himself under the pretext of massive amounts of paperwork and refugees to attend to, nodding courteously to Tasha as he strode away. She watched him go, observing the pride and purpose in his steps and wished she held half as much confidence as he seemed to exude.  _I hate to see him go but, Maker, I do love watching him leave…_

The spymaster stepped around the table, joining Tasha on the other side. She smiled kindly, “We received a response from you clan. Your Keeper was excited to hear from you and to inform you that Aedan is well. She did seem suspicious that we were holding you against your will, so I would advise you to send a letter to alleviate any lingering fears. In addition, response to your expedition has been very positive. I was hoping we could speak about it.”

“Thank you, I will write a message this evening,” Tasha nodded as they exited the Chantry together.

The light of dusk still hung over the horizon, still barring the faint twinkling of the stars. It would have been a perfect evening for a walk had Tasha not been suppressing the growing fear in her stomach as she strode alongside the stoic Spymaster.

“You did well in the Hinterlands, my Lady. Would you be willing to write a report for me?” her reserved smile never quite reaching her eyes.

Tasha nodded, “Absolutely, but I do not assume that is the only reason you wished to speak with me?”

The Spymaster watched Tasha elf carefully before continuing, “It is my job, my duty to… _notice_ things.” The spymaster’s blue eyes seemed to stare straight through her and Tasha struggled to meet her pointed gaze. Leliana continued, “Be careful with those who follow you, Herald. You will have to treat some more… _carefully_ than others.”

“What do you mean?” Tasha’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Understand that everything I do is for the good of the Inquisition,” she said crossing her arms. “I once believed that I was called by the Maker to a great purpose…,” her voice growing colder as she continued, “He does not often repay the service given to Him in kind. I would hate to see, not only your faith diminished, but the faith of those who follow you.”

Tasha stopped her, a sudden fierceness claiming her voice, mirroring the spymaster’s icy tone: “I  _do_  believe in the Maker. I  _do_  believe in a divine purpose. And if I am or if I am not the Herald of Andraste– I can’t tell you because I don’t know myself but I do believe that everything happens for a reason.” She stepped closer, staring into the spymaster’s eyes, “Furthermore, as far as those who put their faith or friendship in me…,” her voice sank, barely above a whisper, “ _I_ am  _not_  the Maker… and I do  _not_  give up so easily on those I care for.”

Rather than taking offense to the challenge in Tasha’s voice, Leliana allowed the slightest of smiles to ghost her lips. “Good.”

She turned to walk away, glancing back only briefly to murmur a curt “Goodnight, Herald,” before disappearing into the shadows.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Burning the midnight oil, Commander?” Leliana’s voice rose from a dark corner of his office. Startled, he leapt to his feet, knocking back the stool on which he had been sitting.

“Maker’s breath, Leliana,” he gasped, “You can’t keep doing that or you’ll have to find a new Commander.” He took a steadying breath, taking a moment to let the beating of his heart slow to something reasonable again. “Now, what is it you needed?”

Her smile was mysterious as she approached his makeshift desk. “I came to apologize for the scene we made today at the war table.”

The Commander sighed and waved his hand dismissively, “You are both professionals in your own right. I know better than to question your expertise.”

She stopped directly before him and crossed her arms, “You are protecting her, Commander. I understand that now. Thinking back, we did put her in quite a… precarious position, no?” Her eyes scanning his for some indication. Cullen carefully avoided the Nightingale’s eyes.

“Again, Leliana, your area of expertise.”

“No other opinions from the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces?”

_Andraste’s ass, I can’t get a moment’s peace today, can I?_

Cullen sighed, forcing himself to look her in the eyes, “I trust your judgment, but I fear for her life. She has only just been named the Herald of Andraste and the mark on her hand has to be a traumatic enough experience without casting her directly to the wolves. While I do not doubt her prowess in battle, I still fear for her safety but mostly for herself, as a person.  **That** is my opinion.” He rubbed the back of his neck, as he so often did when under duress. “Now… if there is nothing further, I have… much to do,” he finished weakly pretending to be interested in the reports lying on his table.

Leliana smiled devilishly, “Not at all, Commander. You’ve told me everything I needed to know.”

And with that, she was gone.

Cullen heaved a sigh of resignation and pinched the bridge of his nose, “Why do I feel as though I’ve just said something incredibly stupid?”

~~~~~~~~~~

The early rays of predawn sun lit the sky above Haven as a glimmer of the moon hung frailly in the western sky. Bare feet padded along the path to the training grounds, unoccupied at this early hour. The chilled air brushed across her cheeks and blew her hair in wisps across her face, but she patiently tucked the rogue tendrils behind her pointed ears. She had taken the time to braid her pale blonde hair – it worked better for training. At last, she reached the farthest end of the field where a few training dummies stood.

Tasha unsheathed her double daggers holding them at the ready. She envisioned Fade demons standing before her rather than the straw and burlap dummies. Pacing around them carefully, the elf measured her steps, and remembered her footwork.

Her attacks were swift, silent, and lethal – her movements a blur, even without the use of magical enhancement. She attacked the training mannequins ferociously, flashing effortlessly from one to another in a flurry of glinting steel. The movement was familiar and comforting in its proficiency. Her smile was fierce as she stepped away to inspect what remained of the training dummies.

~~~~~~~~~~

Another long, restless night followed by yet another early morning; the Commander rubbed his eyes, trying to bring himself to wakefulness.  _The nightmares are worse…_  he sighed, pulling on his clothes and armor. It was always pointless to try to sleep afterwards because his dreams always came back worse. Better to begin the day than suffer through another round.

As he stepped from his quarters and onto the village path, he paused as he spied movement at the gates. _Curious_ , he approached careful to remain hidden. The figure was small and lithe and, for a moment, he suspected it was one of Leliana’s spies making their rounds. Then the figure slipped through the gates and out of town. His brows furrowed in concern and he followed, easing his sword from its sheath.

His armor clinked no more so than usual but in the quiet of the morning it was deafening.  _I’ll have to keep a good distance thanks to this blasted armor…_  he frowned. The figure moved with a remarkable ease and swiftness down the path to the training field. Cullen eased through the gate and continued to follow, keeping close to the wall to avoid drawing attention. The figure stopped at the training dummies and a wave of relief washed over him to know it was one of their own.  _Not a spy, not an intruder…_

_Tasha?_

Cullen smiled, releasing his grip on his sword and approached her. He thought to call to her as not to surprise her, when she suddenly leapt at the mannequins – His jaw going slack at the ferocity of her attacks. She twisted, somersaulted, spun, stabbed, and slashed – a veritable force of nature. Cautiously he moved closer, watching her expert, calculated movements, nimble footwork, and limber form as she spun between the training models.

He could not help but stare – her eyes glinting like the matching steel blades she bore, her cheeks flushed from her exertions, her smile untamed with the rush of adrenaline – she was the essence of danger and death, and it intrigued him. A few minutes passed and a mischievous thought crossed his mind.

Tasha was oblivious to her audience, that is, until, she spun and her blades clashed against something solid – and metal. She staggered backwards as she nearly jumped out of her skin.

“Sweet Maker! C-commander!” she gasped for breath, “You scared me half to death. I-I… was not expecting anyone to be here.”

He smiled broadly – He had never seen her flustered before and he planned to relish every moment.

“Good morning, my lady,” he twirled his sword in his hand. “You’re quite impressive," he motioned to the tattered models. “I believe they are quite dead now.”

She flushed and coughed in embarrassment at being discovered and smiled sheepishly, “I suppose I  _was_  a bit… thorough…,”

Cullen flashed her another amused grin and approached the remnants of the training mannequins. He tapped one with his sword and crashed to the ground, completely unusable. The Commander’s eyes widened and he laughed, increasingly aware of Tasha’s growing mortification.

“I don’t think you should practice with dummies anymore, my lady,” he teased.

Her eyes met his and she could not hide the wonder she felt. Tasha had never seen him smile so carefree and happy and had never heard his genuine laugh. There was a certain satisfaction from being able to crack the stoic, imposing Commander of the Inquisition. Slowly, she felt her embarrassment evolve into a tiny spec of satisfaction and she flashed a saucy smile back at him.

He raised his sword to her, “Care to spar, Herald?”

Tasha frowned, crossing her arms, “On one condition–,”

He raised an inquisitive brow, “Yes?”

“You call me Tasha.”

“Well then,” he grinned correcting himself, “Would you care to spar, _Tasha?_ ”

Her smirk was devilish as she spun her blades, “You may just regret this, Commander…,”

“Try me,” he challenged affably.

~~~~~~~~~~

Solas was standing alone, watching the Breach as she approached him. “The Chosen of Andraste, a blessed hero sent to save us all,” he mused cynically.

“Am I riding in on a shining steed?” she quipped playfully, sauntering towards him, smiling.

“I would have suggested a griffon, but sadly, they are extinct,” he replied, enticed by her quick wit, “Joke as you will, posturing is necessary.”

She stood beside him for a moment, watching the Breach. The massive tear in the sky swirled with an otherworldly light that was both beautiful and terrifying. After a stretch of comfortable silence, he spoke again:

“I’ve journeyed deep into the Fade in ancient ruins and battlefields to see the dreams of lost civilizations. I’ve watched as hosts of spirits clash to reenact the bloody past in ancient wars both famous and forgotten,” he turned to look upon her, the realization of her loveliness nearly overtook him as he continued, “Every great war has its heroes. I’m curious what kind you’ll be.”

“What do you mean ruins and battlefields?” she queried, intrigued by his apparent wealth of knowledge. He was somewhat taken aback at her quizzical response – she had little reason to be interested in his preferred field of study, and yet she persisted. _Fascinating…_

“Any building strong enough to withstand the rigors of time has a history. Every battlefield is steeped in death. Both attract spirits. They press against the Veil, weakening the barrier between our worlds,” her eyes blew wide with every word that fell from his lips – She was captivated.

He continued, “When I dream in such places, I go deep into the Fade. I can find memories no other living being has ever seen.”

“That’s extraordinary,” she whispered, barely able to form coherent words. “I’ve been to the Fade before but to go there at will is… remarkable.”

“Have you? It’s rare that one who is not a mage can enter the Fade untrained,” he responded, raising an eyebrow at her declaration.

“I _am_ a mage, Solas. I simply prefer a bow or my daggers,” she stated calmly, weaving her magic and summoning a gust of artic air with a giggle.

Then he felt it – that familiar pull of the Veil as she called forth her power, the way it flowed as freely as water – so familiar and so very much like _home_. That pang in the deep, dark recesses of his being that pleaded for completion, the one he had pushed deep within himself since waking.

She smiled brightly, her pale violet eyes twinkled, “Would you, if it’s not an imposition, be willing to, perhaps… teach me? To enter the Fade, on purpose, I mean.” Her request was hopeful, the desire to learn dripping from each word.

He found he did not quite have the willpower to tell her no. Instead, he returned her smile, albeit guardedly, “Of course.”

“Oh, thank you!” she cried, wrapping her arms around his neck in half-hug before quickly sequestering her unbridled delight. “I have to meet with the others but we will speak on this later, yes?” she smiled briefly before turning towards the Chantry. “Thank you!” she shouted, waving, as she jogged off to meet with her advisors.

He watched her go, thoughtfully admiring the shape of her; still astounded that she had hugged him. He was unable to shake the strange emotions that crept under his carefully crafted exterior. Emotions that he had not felt in well over a millennia. The thick walls around his heart creaked and strained at her unintended bid for entry. She had the most curious effect on him, not entirely her intended goal. He could tell she was innocent and, to him, a mere child. He was not one to believe in fate but the last time he had felt this way was before his pride wrought the downfall of the Elvhen. The thing that had pushed him to go through with his foolish plan: the murder of his bondmate and unborn child.

~~~~~~~~~~

There were never enough hours in the day to accomplish half of what truly needed to be completed. Cullen squeezed the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache forming. Sleeping was a fleeting desire since joining the Inquisition, but paperwork was not completely to blame. Cullen felt his eyes drawn to a small wooden box in the corner of his tent – _Lyrium could help with the fatigue…_  came a tempting whisper in his mind and he had to forcibly wrench his eyes away and back to the report he was reading. He felt his stomach churn as want and will battled fiercely. Eventually, now more frustrated than ever, he stood and stomped out of his tent and towards the training field. He was due for a walk, in any case. The Commander had never been especially fond of pushing paperwork, but being unable to catch up made it nearly painful.

Breathing in the fresh mountain air, he felt his headache ebb, if only slightly – but it was enough. Slowly, he moved through the training fields, inspecting the new recruits. His second, Ser Rylen, had them practicing with each other, getting them used to the feel of steel on steel.

Rubbing a gloved hand over the stubble on his chin, the Commander inspected the forces. Most of the new recruits had never carried a sword before, and he was fair certain barely knew by which end to grip a sword… However, they had twice as much heart as any of the soldiers in their midst. Unsurprisingly, though, they were quite a long way from being as proficient, despite their passion.

Cullen’s eyes drifted to one particular recruit nearby and he shook his head, "You there! You’ve a shield in your hand – block with it," and the startled recruit stared back at him with uncertain eyes. The Commander crossed his arms and scoffed, "If that man were your enemy, you’d be dead," only frightening the poor recruit more, but he did remember to use his shield more appropriately in the next round.

“Lieutenant, don’t hold back. The recruits must prepare for a real fight, not a practice one.”

The Lieutenant responded with a ‘Yes, Commander’ before saluting and turning to see to the recruits.

Cullen felt a familiar presence beside him and he almost shivered at how well he recognized it. He did not need to turn; he already knew…

“Good morning, Commander,” Tasha spoke, gazing up at him, her flowing blonde hair tied back into a neat ponytail and her signature roguish smile spread across her face.

He shifted slightly from one foot to another as a gradual warmth spread over him. He smiled at her, lost for a moment, and then he cleared his throat; the Commander in him came out instead.

“We’ve received a number of recruits, locals from Haven and some pilgrims. None made quite the entrance you did.”

He raised a brow at her and she responded archly, “At least I got everyone’s attention.”

“That you did,” he agreed with his signature uneven grin. He motioned for her to follow him as he moved between the ranks of training soldiers. “I was recruited to the Inquisition in Kirkwall, myself. I was there during the mage uprising – I saw firsthand the devastation it caused.”

A soldier trailed behind them, report in hand – vying for his attention, “Ser!” he called out, handing the Commander the missive.

“Cassandra sought a solution,” Cullen explained, taking the scout’s report, “When she offered me a position, I left the Templars to join her cause. Now it seems we face something far worse,” he finished before glancing at the report.

“I must have this mark for a reason,” she insisted. “It will work. I’m sure of it.”

They stopped at the edge of the training field. “The Chantry lost control of both the Templars and the mages. Now, they argue over a new Divine while the Breach remains. The Inquisition could act when the Chantry cannot.  _Our_ followers would be part of that. There’s so much we can–,” Cullen stopped abruptly, realizing he was ranting. Raking a hand through his hair, he apologized with an embarrassed smile, “Forgive me. I doubt you came here for a lecture.”

“No, but if you have one prepared, I’d love to hear it.” Tasha’s playful smile returned, but her response was sincere. She cocked her head to the side, as though expecting him to continue his lecture. She found it rather amusing that the self-assured, strong Commander of the Inquisition continued to feel flustered with her teasing. It both amused and intrigued her and she had never been one to leave such curiosities alone.

He cleared his throat, chuckling at her eagerness and shook his head, “Another time perhaps…,”

_Maker’s breath, is she…is she… flirting? With **me**?_

“I, ah…,” he stammered, trying to pull his senses together. Clearing his throat, he struggled to remember what his point had been, “There’s still a lot of work ahead,” his eyes met hers and he found he could not look away. They were depthless, those eyes – Vivacious, inquisitive, mischievous, the most astonishing shade of pale violet he had ever seen. And when she  _smiled_  like that… _Andraste preserve me…_  

“Commander,” another soldier approached him, “Ser Rylen has a report on our supply lines.”

“As I was saying…,” he nodded politely before moving to attend to his duties.

She smiled bashfully as she watched him leave, before biting her lower lip in thought. She wrestled with unfamiliar emotions – worry and confusion, mostly.  _I am an elf…_  she sighed unhappily… _and he couldn’t possibly consider... Perhaps that is why he feels so nervous… he thinks that I… and he is too kind to tell me…_ She felt her ears grow red in her mortification.  _Oh, Maker… I cannot possibly face him after this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word Count: 3,328


	9. Val Royeaux, Red Jenny, & the Ice Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi-ho, hi-ho, it's off to Val Royeaux they go... 
> 
> As our heroes are poised to return to Haven, they are intercepted by a messenger and an arrow. Will they take a chance and make new allies or are they heading straight for a trap?

“The city still mourns…,” Cassandra responded to the emotional state of Val Royeaux, as the bells of the Grand Cathedral rang out. The grand entryway was silent and bare, where there had once been a bustling town of energetic people.

Tasha stared up at the grand spires of the city entrance. Val Royeaux was not what she had been expecting – it was  _more._  Grander, larger, louder, more colorful, more vibrant, more  _interesting:_ she had to focus on keeping her mouth closed as she gaped at the massive statues and the elegant structures. The stone walkway, although worn, was clean and well maintained. She almost felt guilty for walking on it with her muddied boots. Her appreciative gazes disrupted as a walking couple spied them; the woman gasped in horror and stumbled to hide behind her husband.

“Just a guess, Seeker, but I think they all know who we are,” Varric murmured, shaking his head at the ridiculous nobles.

Cassandra’s lips curled into a slight sneer as she replied, “Your skills of observation never fail to impress me, Varric…,”

“My lady herald!” a scout called out, hurrying toward them from across the way, before kneeling before a now nervous Tasha.

The Seeker took over, “You’re one of Leliana’s people. What have you found?”

Looking up to meet the brunette’s gaze, the scout responded dutifully, “The Chantry mothers await you, but… so do a great many Templars…,”

Cassandra repeated skeptically, “There are Templars here?”

“The city seems to think that the Templars will protect them from… from the Inquisition,” the scout replied, “They’re gathering on the other side of the market. I think that’s where the Templars intend to meet you.”

“Return to Haven. Someone will need to inform them if we are… delayed.” Cassandra stated to the scout, who nodded in acknowledgement and quickly exited the city’s enormous gates.

Tasha and Cassandra exchanged knowing glances and the group strode forward into what they presumed was going to be something akin to kicking a hornets’ nest…

~~~~~~~~~~

A wooden platform stood in the center of the Summer Bazaar, towards the side of the market place closest to the harbor. Several Chantry Mothers stood upon it, whose faces all seemed to be colored red with righteous indignation. One of the foremost mothers addressed the gathering crowd:

“Good people of Val Royeaux… hear me!” the woman’s thick Orlesian accent apparent as she spoke.

Tasha and her companions stopped in the midst of the crowd, listening to the Chantry Mother speak.

“Together, we mourn our Divine,” and she stepped slightly forward, “–her beautiful heart silenced by treachery…,” her eyes drifted to the members of the Inquisition and her gaze hardened.

“You wonder what will become of her murderer – Well, wonder no more…,” the crowd moved aside and Tasha and her companions found themselves separated from the mass of people in attendance.

“Behold! The so called _Herald of Andraste…_ ,” the woman spat vehemently, “claiming to rise where our beloved fell. We say this is a  _false prophet_! The Maker would send no  _elf_  in our hour of need.”

The _elf_ strode forward boldly, unable to stand the show of bias any longer, “We came here to talk peacefully with you and  _this_ is what you do?” her face contorted into a disapproving grimace.

“Will you not put aside our differences to deal with the danger in our midst? Or is everyone going to simply ignore the giant hole in the sky because I’m an elf?”

“It’s true,” Cassandra interjected, “The Inquisition seeks only to end this madness before it is too late.”

“It’s already too late,” the Mother exclaimed as a group of Templars took the stage. She cried out exultantly to the masses, “The Templars have returned to the Chantry. They will face the Inquisition; and the people will be safe once more!” Her face exuded triumph as she stared down the Herald of Andraste. She moved to speak again, but one of the Templar soldiers struck her at the base of the skull. She cried out before sinking to the ground, unconscious.

Panic gripped the crowd at this brazen display of hostility. Some shouted, raising their fists to the offenders. One Templar, hiding among some of the mothers who were cowering in the back, moved forward to assist the unconscious one, but the Lord Seeker stopped him.

“Still yourself. She is beneath us,” he growled to the young knight.

Guilt played upon the young man’s features, but he backed away obediently.

Tasha could not entirely hide the great shock she felt, but addressed the man with no less impudence for it, "Not here for us, then?”

“As if there were any reason to,” he retorted scornfully.

Cassandra stiffened visibly next to Tasha and the elf glanced askance at her as she shouted, “Lord Seeker Lucius!” she quickly stepped to the end of the platform, “It is imperative that we speak with–”

“You will not address me…,” he growled at her, not even turning to acknowledge her presence.

Confusion filled her eyes, “Lord Seeker?”

“Creating a heretical movement, raising up a puppet as Andraste’s prophet – you should be  _ashamed,_ ” his eyes flashed angrily as he continued, “You should  _all_  be ashamed. The Templars failed no one when they left the Chantry to purge the mages.” Pointing to Tasha, “You are the ones who have failed – you who would leash our righteous swords with doubt and fear. If you came here to appeal to the Chantry, then you are too late. The only destiny here that demands respect is  _mine._ ”

 _Such beautiful words from such an ugly, little man…_  Tasha thought, repulsed, as she stared at him with equal parts brazenness and fury lighting up her brilliant lavender eyes, “If you’re not here to help the Chantry, then you just came to make speeches?”

“I came to see what frightens old women so, and to laugh.” he spat. She glared at him feeling her anger rise at his blatant display of disrespect.

A young Templar broke rank, the same one who moved to assist the Chantry mother, and intercepted Seeker Lucius, “But Lord Seeker—what if she is telling the truth? What if she really was sent by the Maker?”

“You are called to a higher purpose,” the Templar that had attacked the Chantry mother snapped, “Do not question.”

Cassandra seemed appalled and she stepped forward to confront the Lord Seeker further but his face contorted into a dangerous scowl, “ _I_ will make the Templar order a power that stands alone against the void. We deserve recognition – Independence!”

The Lord Seeker moved to stand in front of Tasha, sneering down at her, “You have shown me _nothing._  And the Inquisition,  _less_  than nothing.” As he turned away, he barked at the Templars, “Val Royeaux is unworthy of our protection. We march!”

Their armor clanked as the group paraded away, the sun shining on their polished plate mail. As their figures grew smaller, the crowd disbanded worry and fear silencing their typically wagging tongues.

Varric sighed from beside Tasha, “Charming fellow, isn’t he?”

Ignoring Varric completely, the dark haired Seeker shook her head in wonder, “Has Lord Seeker Lucius gone mad?”

Tasha watched the mob leave. Only one Templar turned to look back, as though he might have a mind to leave the group. Her hope substantially sank when he did not. She sighed and turned to question Cassandra, “How well do you know the Lord Seeker?”

“He took over the Seekers of Truth two years ago, after Lord Lambert’s death. He was always a decent man, never given to ambition and grandstanding. This is  _very_  bizarre.”

“It doesn’t look like we’ll be getting the Templars to help us after all…,” she sighed audibly before continuing, “There may be others in the order willing to talk, however, but at least they’re not our only option.”

“I wouldn’t write them off so quickly. There must be others in the order who see what he’s become. Either way we should return to Haven to inform the others,” Cassandra advised.

Turning her attention to the Chantry mothers, Tasha approached them tentatively. The injured mother glared daggers at the members of the Inquisition. Tasha wondered for a moment, which was hurt more: the woman’s physical body or her ego…

“This victory must please you greatly, Seeker Cassandra,” she rasped.

“We came here only to speak with the mothers. This is not our doing, but yours,” the Seeker corrected, restraining herself from assisting the fallen woman to her feet.

Mother Hevara laughed harshly, “And you had no part in forcing our hand?  Do not delude yourself.  Now we have been shown up by our own Templars – in front of  _everyone._  And my fellow clerics have scattered to the wind, along with their convictions. My fellow clerics are scattered to the wind, along with their convictions. Just tell me one thing,” her eyes drifted to the elf’s, “Do you truly believe that you are the Maker’s chosen?”

 _Have you not already decided what I am?_  Thankfully, reason and a small amount of compassion shone through her venomous thoughts and she sighed, “Someone who can help close the Breach and end this madness.”

“That is… more comforting than you might imagine. It is out of our hands now. We shall all see what the Maker plans in the days to come,” the mother whispered.

Kneeling beside her, Tasha gently placed a hand to her shoulder, “Mother, it is not too late. The Chantry could still help us and come out on top.”

“If only that were true,” The Chantry mother kept her eyes downcast, unable to meet Tasha’s gaze.

“What’s to stop you from trying?” Tasha countered.

“We are not looking for a winning horse,” her voice was sorrowful, “We are only trying to do the right thing. Leave me be, survivor – your presence is not comforting.”

 _The right thing…_  Tasha chuckled as she felt the familiar fear and doubt gnawing in her mind, the unease settling in her stomach.  _What is the right thing? We are all searching for it and everyone thinks they’re doing it. The mages thought that the right thing was freedom. The Templars thought that the right thing was control. The Chantry thought the right thing was faith. What about me?_  

 “I believe that messenger is trying to get our attention,” Cassandra stated, motioning to guard.

“You are the Herald of Andraste, are you not?  I have an invitation for you,” he handed her the missive before quickly walking away.

Tasha unrolled the high-quality parchment and read aloud, “You are cordially invited to attend my Salon held at the Chateau of Duke Bastien de Ghislain. Yours, Vivienne de Fer, First Enchanter of Montsimmard, Enchanter to the Imperial Court.”

“Could be fun, right?” smirked Varric.

She was still deep thought when an arrow whistled through the air, landing firmly in the mortar of the square.

“What is that?” Cassandra gasped.

“It’s a note… with _instructions_?” Tasha stated.

~~~~~~~~~~

The streets of Val Royeaux were strangely quiet after the bitter exchange between the Chantry and the Templars. While it diminished the bright spirit of the Summer Bazaar, it enhanced the sleuthing atmosphere. Tasha tried to keep a low profile, though she suspected a great many people already knew her identity. The party split into two groups in order to cover more ground and Solas suggested a rogue be in each group. As a result, Cassandra and Varric paired together and Solas accompanied her –much to Cassandra’s disappointment.

Solas watched her amusement as she moved from one canopied merchant booth to the next. The way her brows knit together in consideration, the way her hands brushed every object she saw in the market, the quirk of her lips when she saw some new thing – and  _everything_  was new – she was so  _young_ , so innocent _._  She held that childlike curiosity that simply must know everything, that assumed there were still logical and unquestioned lines between black and white – no gray area. The world was still colorful and exciting, whereas he… The mage felt a twinge of a smile touch his lips as he thought wryly,  _I am older… and not so impressed with the mundane…_

Tasha felt a flush creep over her cheeks as she felt his gaze on her. She wondered how long he had been staring. It was flattering to have his attention – Solas was one of the smartest people she had met. His knowledge of the Fade intrigued her. Ignoring his interest was nearly impossible… though she admitted something  _always_  held her back.  _How do I even do this? Surely, he is not interested in some blushing virgin…_ Nervously, Tasha brushed a loose strand of hair behind her pointed ears, doing everything in her power not to meet his gaze.

Suddenly, something red on the ground in the tavern caught her eye. She sauntered casually toward the café, taking a seat on an adjacent table. There were other patrons occupying the table above the clue and she panicked for a moment, wondering how she would be able to retrieve the item. Solas noticed her predicament and reached for her hand from across the table. Startled, she tensed her eyes wide as she looked to him for answers.

“I am pleased the journey here was pleasant,” he murmured, casting a surreptitious glance at the nearby table. “We’ll have to hire that carriage master again for the trip back.”

She blinked for a moment and as understanding dawned on her face, she smiled, “Indeed. It was most enjoyable.”

Solas felt his heart melt at that smile. She never really used it much and he felt a pang of regret that their meeting had occurred because of his folly. He knew under different circumstances, that their meeting would not have been so special and they would not be so  _connected_.

 _Special… connected…_  the words tumbled in his head. He wondered if she felt the same; a part of him hoped she did not. He had been alone so long he was not sure if the company would just be a distraction or disturbance. Then again, when she smiled like that… it was almost enough to make him throw all his plans and research…

_Almost._

After a few minutes and when most of the tavern drinkers had become accustomed to their presence, Solas let slip a rock under the table next to them. Quickly, Tasha mumbled her apologies and grasped the pebble and the red bit of cloth, hiding it within the folds of her armor.

“Shall we?” she asked quietly and the mage across from her nodded. Offering his arm as they stood to exit. She glanced at his arm and then to his face, his features as placid as ever. She gingerly circled her arm with his own and the pair casually exited the tavern together, looking very much a couple.

Once outside again, Tasha took a deep breath and flashed a relieved smile at the mage and he felt his heart lurch. She flushed crimson, dropping his arm to wave at Cassandra and Varric already awaiting them in the square, avoiding Solas’ eyes again.

“A successful mission,” Cassandra verified, holding two scraps of red fabric.

“Now all we have to do is piece them together…,” Tasha said a slight frown on her face as she held up the clues.

“This might take a while…,” Varric chuckled.

~~~~~~~~~~

It was not the first time Tasha had faced an angry nobleman. It  _was_ , however, the first time that a noble had threatened her life and droned on about how he was  _so_ important.  _Ugh, what a load of…_

“Herald of Andraste! How much did you expend to discover me? It must have weakened the Inquisition  _immeasurably_!” the noble spat.

“I don’t know who you are,” Tasha tried to explain calmly; slightly confused as to why Lord Fancy-Pants thought she should know his identity.

“You don’t fool me! I’m too  _important_ for this to be an accident! My efforts will survive against you elsewhere!” he spat indignantly.

The blonde elf that appeared from the shadows dared him to “Say what.”

“What is the–,” and suddenly, the poor chap was lying dead on the floor with an arrow to the face. Fitting, though considerably more anti-climactic than he had likely intended.

She introduced herself as Sera, spoke in circles, but was  _deadly_  with a bow – and she had somehow  _acquired_  all of the guards’ breeches…  _That’s why the guards had run out bare-bottomed and… jiggly…_  Tasha felt her stomach lurch…  _Ugh…_

“So… Herald of Andraste…,” Sera drawled, “You’re a strange one. I want in.”

Of course, Sera had followed this with drabble about ‘little people’ and ‘friends of Red Jenny.’ Simple, really.  _Yeah…_

Tasha tried to wrap her head around it and one question chorused: Why?

“Look, I want to get everything back to normal. I join you; you close the big hole in the sky. You get me  _and_  my friends – the friends of Red Jenny.”

“All right, Sera,” Tasha found herself saying. "I can use you and your friends." They weren’t quite spies, but they weren’t quite soldiers. They weren’t quite  _little_ , little people, but they weren’t  _big_  either

“Yes! Get in good before you’re too big to like,” Sera exclaimed.

“That’ll keep your breeches where they should be. Plus, I have all these extra…,” she motioned at her sack of pants. “You have merchants that buy this pish, yeah? Anyway, Haven. See ya there, Herald.”

And… she was gone.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Lady Lavellan on behalf of the Inquisition,” a sharply dressed steward announced as Tasha strolled into the hall. It was a lovely place, elegant, posh, and lavishly decorated. A beautiful fountain cast rippling light and shadow over the high painted ceiling.

It was certainly the nicest affair she had ever been to – then again, it was also the only event she had been invited to… As she walked among the masked faces, she began to wish her companions were with her, not waiting for her outside.

“What a pleasure to meet you, My Lady,” said a kindly shorter fellow wearing a golden mask, approaching her as she stood awkwardly by the fountain. “Seeing the same faces at every event becomes so tiresome.” Tasha bowed her head to him politely, unsure what to say exactly. This was far outside her experiences.

“Are you here on business?” The elegantly dressed woman asked brightly. “I have heard the most curious tales of you. I cannot imagine half of them are true,” she said earnestly.

“What have you heard about me?” The elf asked hesitantly, an eyebrow quirking.

“Some say that when the Veil opened, Andraste herself delivered you from the Fade,” the woman responded happily.

“Everything you’ve heard? Completely true,” Tasha stated with a coy smile.

“Better and better,” the woman giggled. “The Inquisition should attend more of these parties,” the woman responded cheerfully.

“The Inquisition? What a load of pig shit!” said a new comer as he strode down one of the graceful stairways nearby. “Washed-up sisters and crazed Seekers? No one can take them seriously. Everyone knows it’s just an excuse for a bunch of political outcasts to grab power.”

_On second thought, perhaps it was a good thing Cassandra remained outside…_

“That’s not true. I’m just searching for Divine Justinia’s killer,” Tasha said flatly.

“Of course you are. I’m sure your army is out scouring the hills for her murderer as we speak,” he said with a sweeping gesture, “We know what your “Inquisition” truly is.. If you were a woman of honor, you would step outside and answer to charges.”

He reached over his shoulder for the sword strapped there. Tasha made to move, to prepare for the attack. However, in that instant the man froze in place, the crackling of ice echoing off the walls as the band fell silent. The Herald looked up in confusion just as a tall, regal woman started to descend the stairs toward them. Hips sway exaggeratedly with each slow purposeful step, allowing for the most dramatic entrance possible.

“My dear Marquis, how unkind of you to use such language in my house to  _my_  guests.” The dark-skinned woman clothed in form fitted white and silver corset and leggings purred. She wore a high-collared tunic, an elaborate horned hennin, and a mask that created quite a striking silhouette. Her voice was pleasant, as if commenting on a lovely flower arrangement; however venom was delicately woven into them. “You know such rudeness is… intolerable.” Her teeth flashed a brilliant smile against her ebony skin. Eyes flashing dangerously as she walked passed him, hand brushing gently over his shoulder.

“Madame Vivienne! I–I humbly beg your pardon,” the disrespectful man gasped in horrified surprise.

“You should,” she said bluntly. “Whatever am I going to do with you, my dear?” The graceful woman studied him for a moment, arm crossed over her chest, chin resting in the long fingers of one hand, head tilted to the side as if inspecting a statue or painting. Then she turned to Lavellan. “My lady, you’re the wounded party in this unfortunate affair. What would you have me do with this foolish, foolish man?”

Tasha stared hard at the Marquis before replying in a similarly pleasant aloof tone.

“The Marquis doesn’t concern me. Do whatever you want with him.” The Enchantress nodded turning back to the unfortunate man.

“Poor Marquis, issuing challenges and hurling insults like some Fereldan dog lord,” the woman said snapping her fingers and releasing him from her spell. He coughed and sputtered as her magic released and she continued, “And all dressed up in your Aunt Solange’s doublet. Didn’t she give you that to wear to the Grand Tourney? To think, all the brave Chevaliers who will be competing left for Markham this morning… and you’re still here. Were you hoping to sate your damaged pride by defeating the Herald of Andraste in a public duel? Or did you think her blade could put an end to the misery of your failure?” the Enchantress ended coldly. “Run along, my dear. Do give my regards to your Aunt.” Tasha decided she liked this woman – the kind who could tell someone to go to the Void in such a way that they would actually look forward to the trip.

The Marquis straightened his coat and made haste towards the door without another word. Other guests snickered and pointed as he passed. The woman gestured to the band and they took up their instruments. Music once again filled the air.

“I’m delighted you could attend this little gathering. I’ve so wanted to meet you,” the woman said looping her arm through Tasha’s and leading her up to the quieter second floor.

They came to a stop by a row of gigantic windows looking out onto the well-manicured courtyard, gates, and city beyond. Tasha could just barely make out her companions waiting for her beside the elegant wrought iron gate. She could have sworn Solas was looking right at her though it seemed doubtful he knew it was she at this distant. Still something about his posture indicated recognition.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” the woman said, “I am Vivienne, First Enchanter of Montsimmard and Enchantress to the Imperial Court.”

“Tasha Lavellan, First of Clan Lavellan, Last of Clan Tabris, and the Herald of Andraste,” she replied, mirroring Vivienne’s bow. “Charmed, Lady Vivienne.”

“Ah, but I didn’t invite you to the chateau for pleasantries.” She gave Lavellan a knowing smile, “With Divine Justinia dead and the Chantry is in shambles, only the Inquisition might restore sanity and order to our frightened people,” she continued and smiled that beautiful smile again. “As the leader of the last loyal mages of Thedas, I feel it only right that I lend my assistance to your cause.”

“The Inquisition will be happy to have you, Lady Vivienne,” Tasha made sure to keep her expression carefully neutral.

“Great things are beginning, my dear. I can promise you that,” the Enchantress smiled and Tasha wasn’t sure if her genuine smile was breathtaking or terrifying.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this particular exchange between Vivienne and the Marquis is one of my absolute favorites in the entire game. I cackle with glee every time she verbally eviscerates the poor guy. Makes my day - Hope you all enjoy it as well. Thanks again for reading!  
> Word Count: 2,177


	10. Breeches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is light-hearted and, dare I say, funny but also pretty short. There is a rather dark chapter coming up and this one felt necessary to break that up. While this chapter is safe, the next may not be for some readers.  
> Word Count: 493

The group headed back to the main square, path set on the massive iron-worked gates that signified the city entrance, eager to report back to Haven.

As they reached the gates of the city, a woman’s voice spoke from behind the group, “If I might have a moment of your time…,” the dark haired elven mage said politely.

“Grand Enchanter Fiona?” Cassandra asked in suspicious surprise.

“Leader of the Mage Rebellion,” Solas said bowing slightly, one eyebrow lifting. “Is it not dangerous for you to be here?”

“If it is help with the Breach you seek, perhaps you should look among your fellow mages,” she spoke softly with a smooth voice, rich like velvet.

“Consider this an invitation to Redcliffe: come meet with the mages. An alliance could help us both, after all.” She turned to slip once more into the shadows, but paused to look back at Lavellan. “I hope to see you there. Au revoir, My Lady Herald.”

“That was… Interesting, to say the least,” said Lavellan staring after where Fiona had vanished into the shadows, eyes narrowing in thought.

“Indeed,” nodded Solas. “Something to look into perhaps.”

“Agreed,” she said slowly, turning to continue on their path out of the city.

“Come. Let us return to Haven,” Cassandra added.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Ser?” the scout called, trailing after the Commander.

Cullen was barking commands at the new recruits and the training soldiers. He had not heard Jim, the scout. The Frostback winds alone were thunderous but the Commander’s strong voice carried through. He marched through the training ground and to the field tents, helping to secure the ropes better, calling out for others to do the same, before continuing up the path to the village proper.

“Ser?” Jim called again.  _Still,_  he was not heard.

“I want all the weaponry stored in the stables with the rest of the armor. I want nothing left out to the elements – a storm is heading this way,” he said to one of his lieutenants. The man nodded and moved to obey.

“Ser!” Jim finally shouted.

Angry, eyes turned, blazing holes through the young man. The Commander growled, “What?!”

The scout felt his knees go weak as he withdrew, suddenly forgetting why he was chasing the Commander to begin with.

Cullen had no time for games and even less patience. He moved so that he faced the scout directly, repeating, “What?!”

Startled, the scout stuttered, “M-message, Ser,” he handed over the parchment. “And a p-p-package.”

The Commander snatched them from the scout’s hands; walking away without another word, continuing to shout commands to the remaining troops.

He entered the Chantry, glad to be out of the wind, finally – but he had not gone there for shelter. Over the War Table, he set the parcel down. He leaned over the wooden table, observing the pieces on the board. One piece still stood over Val Royeaux and he picked it up, considering its significance.

How long had it been? A week, at the least? Or more? He wasn’t quite sure. The days seemed to roll together. Between the day she left and her expected arrival, he had sent out twelve missions and not all of them successful. While none of his soldiers had been lost, gaining a foothold anywhere in the vicinity was still risky. He hoped to have secured more of the area for when she returned. That way, her next mission would not be as difficult.

“They’re arriving tonight, you know,” Leliana said from across the room. “You can move that piece back to Haven.”

Cullen’s head snapped up, and trying to feign a look of detachment, he faced the spymaster, “I was just…planning tomorrow’s advances.”

"I’m sure she’ll appreciate that," she flipped her red hair from her eyes and smiled mischievously at him.

The Commander’s face turned red knowing he had set himself up for her pointed jest. With more force than intended, he set the piece he had been fiddling with down again on the map and stepped away, grabbing the message and the package, and trying to ignore the amused glances from Leliana.  _How could that woman ever have been a simple Chantry sister?_  He grumped as he made his way to his field tent. 

Dusk settled upon Haven when he reached his field tent. The night watch was switching over and he could hear booted feet falling in formation as they marched from their tents to their posts. Wearily, Cullen sank onto his cot and eyed the stack of paperwork awaiting him on his makeshift desk. One report after another, consecutively, had been adding up while he had been training his soldiers. He was exhausted _,_ but then again, he was always exhausted, and yet he hardly slept. Between paperwork and training and troop advancements – _Lyrium…_

Cullen shook his head, willing the thoughts away. He pulled off his gloves and filtered through his reports, one by one – responding to some and filing others in an attempt to still his overactive mind. He had a few of his own reports to write in regards to their progress.  _Those, at least, can wait until morning…_  he rubbed the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut against the throbbing headache. A few moments passed before he opened one eye, glancing at the message still lying unopened on his table. Allowing himself a deep breath, he took it in his hands and flipped it over, the handwriting on the front making his heart leap in recognition. _Tasha…_

A small smile played on his lips as he read it to himself:

~~~~~~~~~~

_Cullen,_

_I’ve already sent a report to Leliana about the mission but I wanted to make you aware about what’s arriving ahead of us: Her name is Sera. She’s an elf, blonde, and is one of the ‘friends of Red Jenny.’ Most likely, she’ll arrive a day or so ahead of us, if she hasn’t appeared already. Try not to get on her bad side – She’s pretty quick with a bow. Saved our lives because of it, actually._

_I hope this letter finds you well. Actually, I was hoping to reserve some of your time before they send me out again. And don’t furrow your brows –Varric says it’s bad for your health when you keep a serious expression like that on your face. There, I made you smile, I hope. Anyway, I was hoping you’d still be willing to spar with me. Nothing like a brush with death to remind a girl how rusty she is at blocking knives being thrown at her back._

 

_You’re frowning again – I can feel it all the way in Val Royeaux._

_St_ _op it._

 

_~Tasha_

_P.S. The parcel is a gift from our new ‘friends.’_

~~~~~~~~~~

Something about the familiarity with which she wrote him always made him smile - and furrow his brows, just as she said. He folded the letter and stashed it with another similar to it by his bedside. Turning his attention to the package, he unlaced the twine keeping it shut and opened the canvas folds. But what was in them made his forehead knit together in consternation.

It seemed, what he was holding in his hands, was none other than…

A full bag of  _breeches._


	11. The Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the return trip to Haven, our heroine has a vivid nightmare regarding who she once was - and how she died. She shares a tender fireside moment with Solas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  *****TRIGGER WARNINGS*****  
>  Triggers for this chapter include, but are not limited to:  
>  **Nightmares** , **Fighting/War** , **Rape/Non-Consensual** , **Pregnancy/Miscarriage** , and **Character Death**
> 
> This chapter is easily one of the darkest I've ever written. So, without further ado, here's The Nightmare.

It had been many years since she had awoken from a dream that had shaken her so. Her dreams of the past had always been vivid and some she appreciated more than others. She had spoken with Deshanna and Aedan on multiple occasions to try to determine the meaning or omen behind some of her more intense dreams, without much success. While the majority of her dreams were blissful and happy, when she did have nightmares, there were often terrible storms to accompany them, the likes of which not many had witnessed in recent memory – The crashing thunder, jagged bolts of lightning, torrents of freezing rain, and icy, biting wind. While she had come to expect the change in the weather, mostly because of who she was, it always made her feel a touch of guilt for her inability to control her emotions.

On this particular night, the dream, or rather, the nightmare she had was new. She was in the same familiar place, the palace of crystal and light that the majority of her dreams of the past took place. She was alone, scared, and heavy with child. The bone-chilling fear she felt as she ran from her unknown assailants lingered even in the waking world.

~~~~~~~~~~

She was clad in her thin night shift; she had stirred awake to the sounds of battle and death, the heat of fire, and the scent of smoke. Her lover, her protector, _her vhenan_ was nowhere to be found and while she feared for him, she had a duty to protect both herself and the life growing within her. Her thoughts interrupted by the pounding of angry fists and booming voices on the other side of their bedroom door. She grabbed her most prized possession, her lover’s necklace, and covered herself with a cloak before slipping into the servant’s passage behind the bookcase.

As she navigated the narrow corridor making her escape, the sounds of fighting surrounded her, even through the thick walls of marble and magic. She heard the sound of her bedroom door give way as the silverite hinges gave in under the continued stress of her pursuers determined assault. Her bare feet padded along the cold ivory floors to her destination, clutching her rounded belly and praying her lover was safe. She reached the end of the servant’s passage, exiting into the kitchen. She glanced around for danger before moving into the kitchen and removing a dagger from the rump of the previous night’s meal. She avoided the sounds of footsteps and fighting, making her way to the throne room and the secret escape passage hidden behind her lover’s throne. As she made her way silently under the arches of the courtyard overlooking the gardens, she saw him in all his terrifying glory, the monstrous beast of legend – the Dread Wolf himself. While she knew him as a considerate, albeit possessive, lover, as her bondmate and father of their unborn child, and a talented mage who preferred the quiet, solitude of their study to the chaos of the battle field – what he was to the world was much more breathtaking _and_ terrifying.

His ebon black fur swirled with magic wafting from him like shadowy smoke, while his six blood-red eyes burned with righteous fury. The bodies of the dead littered the ground at his feet, while blood flowed freely from his wounds, matting his thick, dark fur. The sight of him made her knees go weak; he was protecting their life, their home, _their family_. With the briefest of glances, she made a silent appeal to him: “Ar’an eth, vhenan.” _We are safe, my heart._ Two of his six eyes focused on her fleeing form, returning his own desperate plea: “Josa, ma’sa’lath.” _Flee, my love._ She knew he would protect her even as he drew his last breath and the thought terrified her. She moved with all the grace she could muster as a woman heavy with child. Her aching joints screamed as she made her way to the Throne room. She thrust open the heavy crystalline doors to find herself surrounded by a small contingent of soldiers, eight in total, their leader poised upon her lover’s alabaster throne.

“Excellent – You’ve arrived. I was worried you did not receive your invitation – what kind of host would I be if the guest of honor missed her own party?” he smiled wicked, the vallaslin of Elgar’nan creasing with his expression.

She straighten, holding her head high and regal in defiance, before responding, “What is the meaning of this intrusion?”

The man atop her lover’s throne cackled maniacally at her demand, followed by the howling laughter of his men, who had quickly surrounded her. He rose from the throne, striding confidently down the dais towards his prize.

“You presume you and your lover are still in charge here. He may be clever but even Fen’Harel could not curb the fury of the Evanuris. He has freed his last slave – this little _revolution_ he has been leading will die and so will he,” the elf sneered.

“The Dread Wolf is many things, but a usurper he is not. He would not seek power for the sake of having it – The people flock to him because he does what is _right_ ,” she stated boldly, her captor’s face flushing with rage at her insolent declaration. “The elvhen were never meant to be made lesser-than by their own people and were never meant to be slaves. The people will no longer bow to power-grabbing mages who fancy themselves Gods. The Evanuris are nothing but tyrants and warmongers–,” Her words were lost as she was slammed against the cold marble pillars of the great hall, a strong hand against her throat. She struggled for breath and scratched at the fingers firmly gripping her throat.

“You will not speak of the Creators with such disrespect in my presence! That _mongrel_ is nothing but a coward and a murderer. And _you…_ ,” he sneered, tightening the grip on her throat, her lungs burning for air. “You are _nothing_ but a dog-loving _bitch_ and the bastard whelp in your belly… Nuva vunlanas esha’lin esahn lan na ir’tel’sasha!”

She scratched and kicked desperately as her vision started to blur from lack of oxygen. _Vhenan! Aria! Halani em’an!_ A silent plea to her lover. Thankfully, her assailant loosened his grip as he tossed her across the room in his rage, ripping her cloak from her form. She cried out in pain as she slammed against the stairs of the dais, before rolling down. She groaned as she rolled to a stop, coughing and gasping for air. Her side screamed with every breath and she was certain she had broken a rib or three. She inhaled deeply, willing away the pain and sending a healing spell to herself and the life within her body.

“Now,” he said straightening his armor, once again donning the mask of pomp and arrogance that had slipped in his rage. “Before you get any ideas of escaping, know this: You have one purpose right now and that is to make as much noise as possible to draw the Dread Wolf to your aid. When he hears your cries, he will come,” he said with a sneer, twirling a knife skillfully, as his men began to snicker. “Once you have outlived your usefulness, you will die – unless you can prove your… _skills_ are sufficient collateral for your life.”

She rubbed the bruised flesh of her throat before popping herself up against the cool marble. She knew very well what he was implying. The thought of being taken by anyone other than her _vhenan_ made her feel physically ill and her heart ached for him. Her jailors ogled her hungrily, appreciating the view her night shift provided. She struggled feebly to cover herself from their gazes. The leader moved towards her with purpose, as she scurried backwards against the throne, her back meeting the cool alabaster.

“Are you going to play nice or do you require more… persuasion to cooperate?” he asked with a wicked smile.

“Do what you must but I will not cry for him,” she managed to croak out.

“Every one of these men are highly trained Ena'sal'in'amelan. We came for one purpose: to destroy the Dread Wolf. What a better way to destroy him than by thoroughly using his mate? All the better if we can have a little fun in the process, am I right boys?” The roar of approval was all she heard before they descended upon her like a pack of wild dogs.

 ~~~~~~~~~~

The more he fought, the more that seemed to appear. He felt the rush of adrenaline as he unleashed spell after spell at his attackers. How _dare_ they?! Sending soldiers to _his_ home, against _his_ family! He felt a rush of relief when he saw her pass through the courtyard in the direction of the Throne Room. _Ar’an eth, vhenan,_ she told him _._ Their eyes met briefly for his own unspoken message: _Josa, ma’sa’lath_. One of the many things they shared as bondmates was the ability to convey strong emotions unspoken. He watched as she opened the doors to the Throne Room content that she would manage to escape unaided, focusing once more on the _insects_ taunting him.

He was every bit the Dread Wolf of legend. Wave after wave of the Evanuris’ soldiers fell beneath him, between his arsenal of spells, razor-sharp claws, and powerful jaws. He surveyed the carnage surrounding him: he was not proud of what he had done but he would do it again a thousand times to protect his mate, as was his way. His thoughts were interrupted by her silent plea: _Vhenan! Aria! Halani em’an!_ He froze. He was being distracted – he had been outwitted, with the one thing that could cage him. _Ma’sa’lath!_ His blood-red eyes darkened to a deep crimson as he fled the courtyard in the direction of his throne room. His lupine ears picked up the faintest whimpers of pain and the lewd slapping of skin on skin, followed by multiple groans of release. _No… NO!_ His massive frame slammed full force into the crystalline doors, barred from the inside, they groaned against his exertion. He heard her faint cry, followed by a quiet “No…,” more a sobbing plea than a command. His heart broke at her desperate whimpers and the sounds of her violation. He crashed against the doors once again, the vulgar noises from beyond the door only fueling his wrath.

“At last the Dread Wolf makes his appearance at your party, _da’len_!” a voice from inside spoke at a gruff tempo in time with the lustful sounds of coupling. He felt his heart break, for both what he feared was happening and for what part of him already knew was taking place.

“Cry out for your lover! _Ma nera ra!_ Let him know how much you _appreciate_ being filled and how he could never again satisfy you!” the same voice bellowed, ending with a loud roar of release. Yet she did not cry out.

“Never,” she whispered. He heard one more silent plea from his mate: _Din, vhenan… Josa…_  

That was it. He reverted to his elven form; his long chestnut locks formed into tight twists, matted with blood and sweat, while his usually pristine armor was soaked with the blood of his enemies. _Good, ammunition._ He cast his spell using the lifeblood of the dead, the invocation shattering the thick crystal doors with a deep and sinister drone. The sight that awaited him was something he would never be able to vacate from his memory: his love, his _vhenan_ between two lesser men, their disgusting pricks filling her, her skin mottled with deep bruises, and her beautiful face streaked with tears and blood. Her beautiful pregnant belly blemished with bruises and drying seed. The length plunging into her throat hesitated only long enough to acknowledge his presence before continuing.

“Ah, you’ve arrived. I was worried, you’d miss the grand finale,” the tanned elf with the vallaslin of Elgar’nan spoke. He spent himself on her face before continuing to address him. “I now understand why you favored your mate – She is an excellent _fuck_ , even heavy with your _mongrel_ brat,” he mused, smiling wickedly, tucking his softening length into his breeches.

His rage consumed him. “By the time I am done with you, even Daern’thal will take note of the nefarious ways I brought your end,” he sneered, baring his teeth ready to tear the man’s throat out himself.

“ _Tsk, tsk_ such hostility. And we’ve been such excellent hosts, even showing your _wife_ a good time,” he spoke gesturing to his mate, as one of the men groaned in release before withdrawing and the second rolling her onto her back and rutting into her, roaring with his own climax before also withdrawing.

His heart shattered into a thousand pieces at that moment. She lay prone on the cold, ivory floor, her eyes vacant and unseeing, covered in the seed of the revolting filth now surrounding him. She whimpered as their eyes met and shone with regret, but also with… something else. Her bruised and bloody face flashed the faintest of smiles and her eyes beamed with love and adoration. _Oh, how he cherished her._ She who had tamed the Dread Wolf’s heart, the swell of her belly bore the fruit of her conquest. This trespass upon her would not be forgiven – _could not_. Gathering the remaining blood covering his lithe, muscular frame, he began the invocation.

As her assailants surrounded him, he bided his time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. They circled him, studying his stance, ready to bring him down at the slightest indication of threat. The magic he intended to use was not one of the Fade but of the most primal and basic of energies – Blood Magic.

“You have been _very_ busy, Fen’Harel. Freeing slave, amassing an army, removing the vallaslin of your followers. The Creators are not happy with your _meddling_ , Wolf,” their leader spoke moving towards him purposefully. “Soon you will join Mythal in the Void.”

“What have you done? You cannot simply _murder_ Mythal!” he howled skeptically.

“Oh, quite the contrary. You see, the only reason I cannot murder Mythal is because _I already have_ ,” the elf laughed maliciously, his companions echoing his wicked amusement. “And soon, you will follow her into the Beyond and your little rebellion will die along with you. Your existence will be but a forgotten blemish on the reign of the true Gods!” the leader thundered to the cheer of his men.

“This is madness!” the Dread Wolf retorted, coming to a close of his incantation and his captor’s impending end.

“This is Elvhenan!” the tall elf roared, kicking him squarely in the chest, sending him to the ground, sliding across floor.

_Now._

He released his spell: bursting blood vessels and stopping hearts. Blood poured from any available orifice, staining the pristine floors of his throne room. The group fell to ground, nary a blade drawn.

He rose, flying to his love’s side, kneeling next to her body. He fingers rested over her pulse point, feeling the faintest of beats. He cast his healing aura over her, but she did not rouse. Panic choked him as his hand moved to her abdomen, searching for signs of life within – he found none. His skin tingled with electricity, as he sent a slight shock into his mate’s body. She let out a slight whimper, her eyelids fluttered open as he drew her into his arms.

“Stay with me,” he begged, choking on sob in his throat. She was always the calm voice of reason to his impulsive action.

“You came…,” she spoke weakly. Her hand reaching up to cup his face, wiping the tears spilling down his cheeks with her thumb.

“Of course I came for you – I will _always_ come for you, Vhenan’ara,” he smiled, pressing their foreheads together.

“I can’t feel them move anymore, emma’lath. I can’t…–,” her voice cracked. “I tried… to fight. They wanted me… to cry out for you – to draw you here. They wanted to kill you, vhenan. I couldn’t…,” she whispered, his tears flowed anew at her words.

“You are so strong, my love. We will endure. I will take you from here and we will begin again – together,” he whispered to her, cradling her wilting form.

“I am dying, vhenan,” the weight of her words struck deep – he shook his head in furious denial as she continued. “Ma melava Halani. Mala suledin nadas,” she spoke solemnly, her crystalline eyes gazed into his blue-gray eyes conveying only love and adoration. “Sule tael tasalal, ma’sa’lath,” she rasped with a smile, her hand slipping from his face before falling limp in his arms.

The color drained from his face, “Vhenan…?” he whispered, caressing her pale face. “Vhenan!” he sobbed clutching her limp form tightly, his breath accelerating as anxiety and rage came to a head.

The resulting blast levelled the entire estate. The pyroclastic cloud was nothing short of devastating: super-heated air burn the very oxygen from the air, killing any living thing within mere moments. Fabric quickly burned away and metal armor seared to underlying flesh. In the center of it, a great ebony wolf with eyes aflame. In comparison, a miniscule-looking foci hovered above the Great Wolf emitting an eerie green mist before buffering outward with a thundering boom as a bright light bleached to white.

~~~~~~~~~~

She shot up from her bedroll violently, covered in a liberal slick of sticky sweat, shaking uncontrollably. She clutched her stomach, expecting to still be as full and round as in her dream – _Or rather, her memory…?_ She dressed quickly before heading out of the tent she shared with Cassandra, who snored peacefully to her right. She stepped into the night, thankful for the cool breeze on her flushed skin. She sat on a damp log beside the fire, staring at the flames as they licked at the darkness.

“Something troubles you, lethallan?” a quiet murmur spoke from the shadows beyond the firelight.

“Gah!” she nearly jumped from her skin, falling backwards off her perch. _Solas… It’s only Solas…_

His face appeared above her as she lay prone on the earth, his expression a mixture of mirth and concern. She closed her eyes, willing her breathing back to normal before opening them again.

“I apologize for scaring you. It was not my intention to do so,” he continued, extending his hand to help her rise. She waved him off with a smile, propping herself onto her elbows.

“You’re fine. I scared myself mostly,” she smiled as he quirked a brow before explaining, “–dreams.”

“Ah,” he nodded knowingly. “You just missed an unexpected shower. Although short, it was quite intense and now it seems as though it never occurred, save for the puddles,” he thought aloud.

“Ah, yes… well…,” she stuttered, climbing back onto the log, wiping the mud from her armor. “That may have been… my fault…,” she chose her words carefully. She had already told him of her abilities as a mage but her full name was something else entirely. It was something only her clan knew and, with such a mouthful of a name, it was not something she wished her friends to trip over.

“Your fault, _da’len_?” he questioned.

“I had a nightmare. My moods, you see, can… affect the weather…,” she stated cautiously, studying his features carefully.

“Fascinating,” his stoic expression fading to sincere interest. “How does that work exactly?”

“Fine, most of time,” she said with a smile. “When I was with my clan, I was usually a very content creature; most of our days were blessed with sunshine and mild temperatures. Other times, when I was angry, upset, or sad, the weather would shift: clouds would gather – rain, sleet, snow, and even hail would fall. But the worst was the thunder and lightning – very, very frightening,” she finished with a shiver.

He watched her with rapt attention. He had expected many things, but this was not one of them. An Ala'syl'ise'man'thanelan, an Elementalist, even in the times of Elvhenan was so rare it was nearly unheard of, but now…

“My full _sal’melin_ is Tashaintarasylnin, it means–,”

“Mistress of the Storm…,” he finished, almost in awe.

“…Correct. It’s not something I freely admit to most I meet, mainly because it’s a mouthful and leads to questions I tire of answering. Though, I find that speaking with you comes easily,” she said with a small smile, staring into the flames of the campfire.

“Thank you for sharing with me. I won’t tell a soul,” he motioned across his lips, effectively sealing them with a smirk.

“Shall we rouse the others and finish our journey? We should reach Haven today,” she said, standing tall with a stretch.

“I shall stir Varric. He truly does sleep like a child of stone…,” he said with a smirk.

“And I shall awaken Sleeping Beauty,” she mirrored, chuckling at their wisecracks regarding their companions. _He is taking this remarkably well…_

He made his way back to the tent he shared with Varric, thinking on what she had shared with him. She was much more than he had ever expected and he would need to watch her closely and carefully. _Fascinating, indeed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS:  
> Ar’an eth, vhenan - We are safe, my heart.  
> Josa, ma’sa’lath - Flee, my love.  
> Nuva vunlanas esha’lin esahn lan na ir’tel’sasha – May you give birth to a child that gives you misery.  
> Vhenan! Aria! Halani em’an! – My Heart! A trap! Help us!  
> Ena'sal'in'amelan – [Arcane Warrior](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Arcane_Warrior)  
> Ma nera ra! – You enjoy it!  
> Din, vhenan… Josa… – No, my heart… Run…  
> Daern’thal – That which brings nightmares; one of the Forgotten Ones  
> Ma melava Halani. Mala suledin nadas. – You helped me. Now you must endure.  
> Sule tael tasalal – Until we meet again.  
> Sal’melin – Personal name, Soul name, or first name.  
> Ala'syl'ise'man'thanelan – Elementalist / Elemental mage / Wielder of the elements.
> 
> NOTES:  
> A big thank you to FenxShiral for their work on [Project Elvhen](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3553883/chapters/7826705)  
> Inspiration for the [Dread Wolf](https://www.deviantart.com/tag/fenharel) brought to you by Nipuni’s amazing art.
> 
> So, the inspiration for the nameless bad-guy in this chapter was Zevran. Before you rally to have me drawn and quartered, allow me to explain: I am in love with his voice. I doubt there is anything Zevran could say without sounding simply delicious. I imagine the bad-guy with Zev’s voice and suddenly his indecent proposal doesn’t sound so terrible. Except for the whole dying part... ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> Word Count: 2,349


	12. The Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To Redcliffe! Dealing with wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey stuffs is hard! 
> 
> Our heroine tries to flirt with her Commander again, and things get awkward. Feeling the sting of her failed attempt, Tasha flirts with Solas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly just filler and in-game dialogue. Cannon choices.

The rest of the return trip to Haven was, thankfully, uneventful. Per Leliana’s request, she had sought out and managed to recruit a Grey Warden named Blackwall from the Hinterlands. Now, she was beyond exhausted and Tasha could not wait to sleep in her own bed. _Ha! I have a bed now– what a proper Dalish am I?_ Stopping outside the Chantry door, she bid the rest of their companions good evening.

“Excuse me,” a young soldier she did not recognize called as she headed to the Chantry. “I have a message for the Inquisition but I’m having a hard time getting anyone to talk to me.”

“What’s your name, soldier?” She asked walking over to him. He was a handsome fellow with high cheekbones and a smooth tenor voice. His armor, while well used, was clean and polished to a high shine.

“Cremisius Aclassi with the Bull’s Chargers mercenary company. We mostly work out of Orlais and Nevarra,” he explained formally. “We got word of some Tevinter mercenaries gathering out on the Storm Coast. My company commander, The Iron Bull, offers the information free of charge. If you’d like to see what the Bull’s Chargers can do, meet us there and watch us work.”

“I see,” she said, raising a brow. “In that case, I look forward to meaning this ‘Iron Bull.’”

“We’re the best you’ll find, Ma’am,” he said proudly, without bravado. “Come to the Storm Coast and you can see us in action.”

_Awesome. One more thing to do…_

Heading into the Chantry, Tasha and Cassandra headed to the War Room. All three advisors were already present and apparently deeply involved in a discussion of their own.

“This would best be handled delicately,” Josephine insisted to Cullen.

“I agree with Josephine, but disagree with the strategy,” added Leliana. “Perhaps, if we sent a few–,”

Cullen was first to notice their arrival and a smile tugged at his lips, “My Lady – Welcome back.”

She felt blush creep into her cheeks at his less than subtle attempt to make up for his last social blunder of not greeting her after she returned from the Hinterlands, but she did her best to ignore it.

“I am curious as to how the meeting with the Chantry mothers went,” Cullen added.

“The Chantry would not speak with us. In fact, they turned to the Templars to protect the people from the Inquisition. And the Lord Seeker was there–,” Tasha recalled their eventful trip to Val Royeaux.

Cassandra interjected, her rage for the entire situation blatantly obvious and her face turned a deep shade of crimson, “He has gone  _mad!_ He outright repudiated the Inquisition and seemed to be seeking only  _power._  The Lord Seeker I knew would never strive for such a thing.  _Something_  is amiss.”

Tasha’s lips quirked, “This is the abridged version. I heard much more colorful terms about the situation on the way here.”

The Commander’s brows knitted into a deep furrow, “What else did he say?”

Putting a hand on Cassandra’s arm and giving her a reassuring gaze, Tasha answered, “The Lord Seeker seemed to want to transform the order of the Templars, quite drastically. He mentioned making it a great force. It seems like something we should be looking into, if that is the case.”

The Commander’s expression was fierce, “That is troubling…,”

“We also received a personal invitation to meet with the mages at Redcliffe from Enchanter Fiona,” Tasha added. “The mages are desperate and the Templars appear to be in a great deal of trouble as well. I’m not sure that either side would be worth recruiting in their current state…,”

“Perhaps we should go to the Templar stronghold–,”

“ _Or_  Redcliffe,” Josephine added adamantly as she stepped back into the room. “As you say, they appear desperate – And you received a personal invitation. It may be something to consider.”

Before Cullen could respond to Josephine, Tasha held up both her hands, “We’ve made contact: it’s a start. We’re running out of time and you’ve had this argument a hundred times before. No matter what facts you have, we need an answer. She pinched the bridge of her nose, “We can only choose one, so you can either bicker about it all night or let me sleep on it and decide in the morning.” Her eyes sought theirs individually but no contest was given, “Very well. I’ll see you all in the morning.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Cullen watched her throughout the whole meeting. She was exhausted – the decision to recruit either the mages or the Templars rested on her shoulders and she knew it. That she was able hold her composure, to keep her resolve, and face them without even an ounce of intimidation was fascinating. He knew, in her position, he would not be so composed. Yet, he saw that familiar glimmer of insecurity in her eyes as they met his a final time.

Part of him wanted to go to her, to convince her to seek out the Templars. Even though he had left that life behind, he still felt a twinge of unease when it came to the arcane and, particularly, a residual amount of distrust where mages were concerned. He had his reasons – memories of the Fifth Blight and his time at the Circle still sent shivers down his spine when he thought of them. He had worked ceaselessly to get where he was now and yet, he still struggled with fear, pain, and anger…

He had proverbial demons of his own to deal with.

He stepped out of the War Room and out of the Chantry. He padded quietly down the pathway towards the outskirts of Haven. He stopped just outside the village; the Herald seemed to be enjoying the crisp mountain air, her eyes closed and the breeze tousling her pale blonde hair around her face.

He smiled softly, “My lady,” he greeted her, “It’s late. You should be resting.”

Tasha laughed, “How can I sleep under the significance of such a big decision?”

Cullen stammered, “I-I apologize. I didn’t mean to – that is…,” he sighed, his lips quirked in amusement. “You always do this to me – make me nervous.”

“I know,” she grinned wickedly. “It’s fun. I’ve come to rely on it.”

His amber eyes searched hers, “Would you care to walk with me?”

Her ethereal eyes lingered on him before answering, “I think… I would care to walk, actually.”

He couldn’t help the way his heart pounded at her acceptance or the crooked smile that stretched across his lips as the she crossed the short distance to be next to him. Glancing down a moment, Cullen could not suppress a chuckle – _she was barefoot._ They walked in comfortable silence for a time with no particular destination. Cullen left her alone with her thoughts – let her think them through and weigh the options. Her forehead creased in careful consideration and the fingers of one hand played with her bottom lip.  _Cute…_  the Commander thought, trying – though failing miserably – to avoid staring at her.

After a while, she sighed, feeling the need for a distraction, “Talk to me.”

He stopped, midstride, her soft voice startling to him in the silence, “I’m sorry?”

Her smile was mischievous, even with her emotions shuttered carefully behind her striking violet eyes, “Commanders of Inquisitions can still do that, right? Talk? Converse? Chit-chat?” she chuckled, “It occurs to me that I know next to nothing about you.”

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck nervously, “I… ah… it occurred to me, yes.”

Tasha giggled quietly, “I’m sorry,” she stated gently as she turned to him again; the insecurity he had sensed in her around the War Table had returned. She distanced herself discreetly and murmured, “I understand if you would rather not. I apologize for taking your time, Commander. Thank you for the walk – It… helped.” With that, she hurried down the trail before he had a chance to respond.

Dumbfounded, he watched her go.  _Maker’s breath, what have I done?_  Panic mingled with his confusion and he called out to her, “Herald!” but she didn’t seem to hear. Absolutely perplexed, the poor man rubbed the back of his neck again,  _I said something wrong – I completely ruined that…_  A great part of him wanted to go after her, but the other part of him feared he would only make things worse. He wasn’t even completely sure what he had said– or not said.

 _Andraste’s flaming…_  he started to curse before sighing heavily.

He took a step to go after her – he knew that he  _should_  go after her. But he didn’t.

~~~~~~~~~~

 _Really? **Really** , Tasha? What on Earth were you thinking? Why would you possibly think he would be even remotely interested in you on anything other than a professional level? _She chided herself internally, screaming at her own juvenile foolishness – this impossible infatuation. _He is a highly respected Commander, a former Templar, and you’re, well, **you**. _ She sighed heavily, rubbing her eyes and willing away the tears that threatened to spill. _Besides, you both have a job to do…_

~~~~~~~~~~

“You look troubled, lethallan,” Solas murmured, coming up beside Tasha as she regarded her shooting pattern.

She turned to him with a smile, “Perhaps…,” before moving to pluck out her arrows from the target. “Indulge me won’t you? I’d like to know more about you, Solas.”

“Why?” he retorted skeptically.

“You’re an apostate, yet you risked your freedom to help the Inquisition,” she responded smoothly.

“Not the wisest course of action when framed that way,” was his dry reply.

“I appreciate the work you’re doing, Solas. I simply wanted to know more about you,” Tasha was beginning to regret asking. Truthfully, her reasons were entirely selfish. She had shared something of herself and she wished to know more of him. Perhaps he did not wish to share and merely meant to maintain a professional relationship.

“I am sorry. With so much fear in the air… What would you know of me?” he finally replied.

“What made you start studying the Fade?” she spoke thoughtfully, tapping her finger on her chin.

“I grew up in a village to the north. There was little to interest a young man, especially one gifted with magic,” he stated thoughtfully, before continuing, “But as I slept, spirits of the Fade showed me glimpses of wonders I had never imagined. I treasured my dreams – Being awake, out of the Fade, became troublesome.”

“Did spirits try to tempt you?” she inquired, knowing that spirits, and demons, would often seize control of a mage through dreams.

“No more than a brightly colored fruit is tempting you to eat it,” he chuckled lightly. “I learned how to defend myself from more aggressive spirits and how to interact safely with the rest. I learned how to control my dreams, with full consciousness. There was so much I wanted to explore,” he mused.

“I gather you didn’t spend you entire life dreaming?” she grinned.

“No,” he chuckled at her question. “Eventually I was unable to find new areas in the Fade.”

“Why?” she asked with genuine curiosity.

“Two reasons: First, the Fade reflects the world around it. Unless I travelled, I would never find anything new,” he watched as her eyes grew larger, soaking up everything he said with unadulterated captivation. “Second, the Fade reflects and is limited by our imaginations. To find interesting areas, one must be interesting,” he concluded with a small smile.

“Is that why you joined the Inquisition?”

“I joined the Inquisition because we were all in terrible danger– _Because of me._ If our enemies destroyed the world, I would have nowhere to lay my head while dreaming of the Fade.”

“That’s… a good point,” she murmured thoughtfully. “I wish you luck.”

“Thank you. In truth, I have enjoyed experiencing more of life to find more of the Fade.”    

“How so?” she asked, placing her bow and quiver to the side and giving him her direct attention.

“You’ve trained to flick a dagger or an arrow to its target. You’ve also trained your will to control magic and withstand possession. Your indomitable focus is an enjoyable side benefit,” he finished, one hand stroking his chin thoughtfully.

“Indomitable focus?” she asked, almost unsure at his statement. _Is he…?_

“Presumably,” he added, raising an eyebrow. “I have yet to see it dominated,” his voice more of a low rumble that Tasha could feel in her chest as he closed the distance between them. Mere inches from her face, her pale violet eyes growing wide as he continued. “I imagine that the sight would be… _fascinating_.” His smug grin only added to the crimson shade creeping across her face and her knees threatened to give out. She could do little but stare at his face. Maker, she never realized how blue those eyes were, the color of storm clouds over the sea. She had also never realized he had freckles, until now. _Maker, Tasha – you’re 26 years old, not some bleeding adolescent chantry sister! Get it together!_

She coughed awkwardly, unused to this particular kind of attention. Trying to find something, _anything_ , to ease the awkward tension.

“Which reminds me, I promised you a lesson on walking the Fade. That is, if you are still interested, _da’len_?”

“Yes!” she replied a bit too quickly, “I mean, _yes_. Thank you, Hahren.” His eyes held an underlying mischief and his self-satisfied smile was causing her thoughts to wander.   

“H-have you always travelled and studied alone?” she finally managed to croak out.

“Not at all,” he replied, taking a step back. His self-assured smile only grew at her attempt to change the subject. “I have built many lasting friendships. Spirits of wisdom, possessed with ancient knowledge, happy to share what they had seen. Spirits of purpose helped me search. Even wisps, curious and playful, would point out treasures I might have missed.”

“I’m impressed that you could become friends with spirits,” she said with a small smile, finally feeling the blush recede from her cheeks.

“Anyone who can dream has the potential. Though, few ever try,” he stated sadly. “My friends comforted me in my grief and shared my joy. “Yet because they exist without form as we understand it, the Chantry declares that spirits are not truly people.” His tone turned darker, angrier as he continued. “Is Cassandra defined by her cheekbones and not her faith? Varric by his chest hair and not his wit?” Tasha realized he was rather passionate about this. And she couldn’t help but agree with his argument.

“I see your point,” she stated softly.

“I…,” he was ready to argue his point before her words registered. He paused for a moment, seemingly surprised by her acceptance on his opinion. “Thank you. Few are willing to entertain such a notion.” _Unexpected…_

“You have an interesting way of looking at the world, Solas,” she stated with a coy smile. _Just a bit more…_

“I try… and that isn’t quite an answer.”

“I look forward to helping you make _new_ friends,” her response surprised even herself. _Crippling blow…_

“That should be… well,” he stuttered, surprised by her sudden boldness. _My, what a fierce, da’fen…_

“That isn’t quite an answer, either,” now it was her turn to smirk. _Straight for the jugular._

“What would you do, Solas? Who would you choose?” she asked pointedly, hand now resting on her shapely hips. The wolf in him wondered what those hips would look like with her legs wrapped around his waist, her back arched in pleasure as he– **No** _._

 _Just a taste…,_ it whispered. **No**.

 _It has been far too long since you have indulged my tastes, mage… I will paint her porcelain skin with sinful bruises as I mark her with my teeth. I will claim her first blood and it will be magnificent._ _I will have what I want. I always get what I want– eventually._

His expression turned grim as he battled with his nature, “There is no correct answer, I’m afraid.”

“What troubles me is I can only help  _one_  of those groups. I must pick one and, inevitably, the other will either war against the group I chose or fall to ruin,” she had reflected deeply on her options, clearly frustrated by the entire prospect. “The ultimate goal is to close the Breach: the mages can enhance my mark’s power, while the Templars can suppress the Breach’s power. Both are useful and both are a means to an end. But I can only save  _one_  group – not both.”

“Perhaps, the answer to your question has yet to be seen.”

“Thank you, Solas. I hope you’re right… I really do,” she smiled at Solas as she sauntered towards the Chantry, calling back to him over her shoulder and waving, “Wish me luck!”

He watched her walk away and wondered what must be going through her head. Her thought patterns were passionate, if not idealistic. He found the entire exchange asinine, imprudent, and _adorable_ – _No. you cannot afford to think that way. She is simply a means to an end. Her mark is all you want, all you need._ Right?

~~~~~~~~~~

“Are you  _sure_  this is the course you wish to take?” the Commander asked, leaning over the war table.

“It is,” Tasha met his gaze unflinchingly. “Remember, this is not a decision—not just yet. I’ll take Cassandra, Solas, and Varric with me. A smaller group will be less noticeable and will raise as few suspicions as possible.”

Leliana nodded her agreement, “Very well. My spies will be in the Hinterland camps nearby if contact must be made.”

"Good," Tasha released a short breath. "We’ll leave in the morning."

Cullen watched her go, watching her confidant steps, her squared shoulders. She was leaving again, a mere day after her arrival from Val Royeaux. How did she do it? His thoughts drifted to the previous night and the familiar pang of confusion wriggled into his mind.  _We–_ ** _I_** _should fix this… before she leaves…_  and he thought again to follow her.

However, just then, a scout found him with another report, and once more, he didn’t – He let her go.

 _She’ll be back._ He thought with a sigh.  _She always comes back._

~~~~~~~~~~

“What do you mean we’re not expected?” snarled Cassandra. “Grand Enchanter Fiona invited us here personally.”

“If she was expecting you, then she has told no one,” the scout insisted. “However, we’ve arranged use of the tavern for negotiations.”

“Agents of the Inquisition, my apologies…,” came a breathless appeal from several yards away. An elfin mage sprinted towards them and bowed politely as he came to a stop before the group. “Magister Alexius is in charge now, but hasn’t yet arrived. He’s expected shortly.” Cassandra’s face was stoic as ever and Tasha’s own expression held no humor as the mage stuttered quickly, “Y-you… can meet with Grand Enchanter Fiona in the meantime,” he motioned for them to follow.

Tasha’s eyes narrowed in suspicion as they stood together just inside the gates of Redcliffe Village. Something was terribly amiss. The rift that had opened just outside the gates as they arrived had been _different_ – slowing down time in some places and speeding it up in others; seemingly manipulating time. Now, their invitation to discuss an alliance with the mages was _forgotten_? She watched as the Seeker dismissed the Inquisition scout and the companions made to follow the elfin mage to the local tavern, the Gull and Lantern.

_Not all is as it seems…_

“You know, Redcliffe has a pretty rich history,” Varric mentioned as they passed through the village. “The King of Ferelden lived here for a time, before he was King and he was conscripted into the Wardens.”

Solas nodded, “There is much memory in the spirits dwelling here.”

“Makes sense. I mean, this town was overrun by the undead at one point. Turns out the Arl’s own son was an undiscovered mage, and had been possessed by a demon.”

Tasha’s slender ears twitched, “Wait– what?” she glanced at Varric, “I don’t remember that part of the story.”

“The Arl was sick– dying, actually– and the Arl’s son, Connor, had just come into his power as a mage. He made a deal with a demon to keep the Arl alive, but the thing ended up possessing him and unleashing an army of undead on the village every night. The Hero of Ferelden saved the town and the boy.”

“That’s incredible. I never knew…,” she was nearly in awe. When she was younger, she had delighted in the tales of the Hero of Ferelden, Neria Surana, an elf, but she had not heard that one.

She shook her head in wonder. Many stories had been told about the Fifth Blight but those directly involved were rather tight-lipped about it. She had always assumed it was because of how painful it had been – Many had fought and died during that time, families were torn apart, and friends separated. And yet, somehow, as she beheld the teeming village, life and joy had still managed to find a way back. Much of Redcliffe was rebuilt to its former glory—and  _then_  some. She smiled at the grand griffon statue in the center of the village, dedicated to the Hero of Ferelden and her companions. As they passed, she traced her fingers reverently over the plaque that held the names.

“I think Curly might have met her once or twice.”

“Hm?” Tasha blinked, turning her focus again to the dwarf.

“Oh, the Hero. Before she was the Hero, of course.”

Her brows furrowed slightly, “Curly?”

“Curly – our dear Commander,” Varric stated with a chuckle.

“Do you give everyone nicknames, Varric?” she asked, amused at the new information about her Commander.

“Sure, I do – It’s my thing. I’m still working on one for you, though,” he said with a wink.

~~~~~~~~~~

The tavern was dark and most unwelcoming. It didn’t help that it was nearly empty, and the few remaining patrons were staring daggers at her. She blinked, adjusting to the lack of lighting and her nose crinkled slightly at the smell of smoke and sweat.  _Shuttered windows, quiet patrons… The perfect atmosphere for an anonymous murder…_  Careful steps helped her across the worn, wooden floorboards as she moved further into the room when a familiar voice stopped her short.

“Welcome, Agents of the Inquisition,” the voice that had once pleaded with them in Val Royeaux for help was now cold and distant: Grand Enchanter Fiona. “What has brought you to Redcliffe?”

Tasha stepped forward, “We’re here because of your invitation back in Val Royeaux.”

Fiona looked genuinely baffled as she shook her head, “You must be mistaken. I have not been to Val Royeaux since before the Conclave.”

“If it wasn’t you who invited me here, who was it?” responded Tasha dryly.

The Enchanter’s brows knitted together as she attempted to connect the pieces. “I… I don’t know. Now that you say it, I feel strange…” The woman seemed to give up on her contemplations as she sighed, “Whoever… or  _whatever_  brought you here, the situation has changed.”

“Obviously,” murmured Varric followed by an ‘Ouch!’ as Cassandra glared and elbowed him in warning.

“The free Mages have already… pledged themselves to the service of the Tevinter Imperium.”

Every eye in the Inquisition’s group was upon the Grand Enchanter as they processed the information with equal parts of shock and disgust. Tasha forced her expression to remain neutral as she battled with her thoughts and emotions on the matter. Thankfully, Varric said exactly what she was thinking.

“Andraste’s ass… I’m trying to think of a single worse thing you could have done. And I’ve got nothing.” Varric blurted out as Cassandra glowered at him. 

“I understand that you are afraid, but you deserve better than slavery to Tevinter,” Solas spoke with the voice of reason.

“As one indentured to a Magister, I no longer have the authority to negotiate with you,” Fiona finally managed to stammer out her words.

“What about the giant hole in the Veil that’s spewing demons everywhere? You’re just going to pretend it isn’t there?” Tasha stated incredulously, irritated at the entire situation.

“I am not forgetting about the Breach, but we can only fight one war at a time. The Templar threat was immediate. If we live, we can worry about the torn Veil.” Tasha stared at the woman in disbelief. She knew fear could make people do desperate and dangerous things but this… _this_ was too much.

Just then, the door to the tavern swung open and a hooded man entered followed by a few others. His face held the weathered creases of a man who had been through much. His eyes reflected none of the weariness that such a face should reveal. Instead, they were calculating and cold.

“Welcome, my friends! I apologize for not greeting you earlier,” The man’s greeting was unnaturally cheerful and his heavy steps brought him to stand directly before Tasha.

“Agents of the Inquisition,” Fiona announced, “– allow me to introduce Magister Gereon Alexius.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Alexius had not been what Tasha was expecting – too friendly, too agreeable, too _nice_. She could not shake the feeling of unease as she looked into his eyes. Therefore, it did not surprise her to receive the warning note from his son, Felix, that, she  _was_  indeed in danger. The thought crossed her mind that the warning might have actually been a setup, and yet, here she was, standing in front of Redcliffe’s Chantry doors, as she had done in Haven.  _Nothing ventured, nothing gained, I suppose…_ Folding the note once again and placing it into her pocket, the elf took a deep breath and moved to open the massive doors. Her companions were close behind, their weapons drawn.

The moment the doors swung open, they were greeted the screeching of demons and the familiar, eerie green light of an open rift. Tasha braced herself, daggers gripped tightly in her hands. In the center of the room stood a single mage, fighting the demons materializing from the rift, bludgeoning those nearest with his staff. He picked them off, almost effortlessly, and their forms evaporated, floating like ash on the wind. As he finished off the last of his attackers, he turned to the group in the foyer.

“Good, you’re finally here,” he said with a smug smile, taking a moment to fix his dark, perfectly coiffed hair. “Now help me close this, would you?” he asked as casually as if they were chatting over afternoon tea, before swinging his staff once more to attack another demon that had appeared just behind him.

Without another word, Tasha nodded at the others and sprang into action, dispatching the materializing demons with Cassandra at the fore, and Tasha binding her mark with the rift and sealing it. A moment later, there was a flash of light and it was gone, bursting into a shower of slimy, black ichor.

“Fascinating…,” the olive-skinned man mused, taking a few steps towards Tasha. “How does that work, exactly?” and then he laughed, “You don’t even know, do you? You just wiggle your fingers and _boom_! Rift closes.” While his tone held mostly amusement, he could not entirely hide the wonder in his expression as he regarded the lithe elven woman in front of him.

Tasha had never been quite so confused in her life. Her expression must have conveyed her confusion, as the handsome mage’s face softened before speaking again, “Ah, getting ahead of myself again, I see,” he said with an understanding smile.

Bowing with flourish, his robe swirling theatrically, he introduced himself, "Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous. How do you do?”

“Another Tevinter…,” Cassandra shook her head disapprovingly. “Be cautious with this one.”

“Suspicious friends you have here,” he mocked lightly, his charming smile not wavering for a moment. He then continued, “Magister Alexius was once my mentor, so my assistance should be valuable–as I’m sure you can imagine.

“I was expecting Felix to be here,” Tasha stated pointedly, not bothering to hide the misgiving in her tone.

Dorian nodded, “I’m sure he’s on his way. He was to give you the note, then meet us here after ditching his father.”

“You’re betraying your mentor because…?” she tilted her head to the side at her own question.

“Alexius  _was_  my mentor. Meaning he’s not any longer, not for some time,” his smile fading as he responded in a low voice. “Look, you  _must_  know there’s danger. That should be obvious even without the note.” He stepped closer, his voice low but insistent, “Let’s start with Alexius claiming the allegiance of the mage rebels out from under you. As if by magic, yes? Which is exactly right. To reach Redcliffe before the Inquisition, Alexius distorted  _time_   _itself_.”

“He arranged it so he could arrive here just after the Divine died?” she countered, with doubt in her eyes.

“Solas finally spoke up, “That is fascinating, if true… and almost certainly dangerous.”

“The rift you closed here? You saw how it twisted time around itself, sped some things up and slowed others down? Soon there will be more like it, and they’ll appear further and further away from Redcliffe,” he stated with cautionary flourish. “The magic Alexius is using is wildly unstable, and it’s unravelling the world.”

The elf considered the man in front of her for a few moments as she weighed her options. He seemed honest enough, though she admitted she held less of a bias against the Tevinter Imperium than most of her kind. They needed help to unravel the web of secrets surrounding the mages’ new ally. If that was what he was proposing, then perhaps she should give him a chance.

“You’re asking me to take a lot on faith…,” she stated skeptically.

By now, Dorian’s expression had become dangerously dark, “I know what I’m talking about. I helped develop this magic. When I was still his apprentice, it was pure theory. Alexius could never get it to work.” He raised a hand to stroke his chin in thought, “What I don’t understand now is why he’s doing it? Ripping time to shreds just to gain a few hundred lackeys?”

“He didn’t do it for them,” said another voice in the shadows and every eye turned as Felix stepped into the light.

Dorian’s smile returned, “Took you long enough,” before adding quietly, his expression growing serious, “Is he getting suspicious?”

“No,” Felix said with some distaste, “but I shouldn’t have played the illness card. I thought he’d be fussing over me all day…,” he nodded acknowledgment to Tasha before addressing her. “My father has joined a cult: Tevinter supremacists. They call themselves “Venatori.” And I can tell you one thing: whatever he’s done for them, he’s done it to get to  _you._ ”

“All this for me?” Tasha’s shock outweighed her willpower to remain stoic and it showed in her widened eyes. The absurdity of the situation dawned on her then too and she quipped, “And here, I didn’t get Alexius anything.”

“Send him a fruit basket,” Dorian responded without missing a beat, making the Tasha smile. “Everyone loves those.” Then he added seriously, “You know you’re the target. Expecting the trap is the first step in turning it to your advantage. I can’t stay in Redcliffe. Alexius doesn’t know I’m here and I want to keep it that way for now.” His eyes grew serious as he finished, “But whenever you’re ready to  _deal_  with him, Iwant to be there. I’ll be in touch.”

As he was walking away, fading into the shadows in the back of the Chantry, he called over his shoulder, “And Felix” Try not to get yourself killed.”

The young man’s expression was sad as he responded, “There are worse things than dying, Dorian.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word Count: 2,668


End file.
